The Boy from Gray September
by Codename-Valkyrie
Summary: It's been a month since Clara Oswald moved to the dreadfully boring Neptune Creek, and she needs a miracle. It's been a year since John Smith gave up being the Doctor, and he needs a friend. Whouffle, depressed!Eleven AU. Disclaimer: I don't own.
1. Prologue

**A/N HI! I've been working on this one a while, and it's almost halfway done. MOST CHAPTERS, I WOULD LIKE TO ADD, ARE LONGER THAN THIS ONE. IT'S JUST THE PROLOGUE. SORRY. Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Updates will not really be constant, but I'm uploading the second chapter either tonight or tomorrow.**

**Day -9: Prologue**

Clara Eleanor Oswald slumped back on her bed, a mixture of relief and ecstasy flooding through her. The last bookshelf had been set up, the last poster had been tacked to the wall, and her wifi network had finally stopped sending her error messages. The new Oswald house of Neptune Creek was finally set up and ready for business.

That being said, she hadn't seen much of Neptune Creek so far- and the little she had was not exactly promising. The library wasn't exactly extensive, but what she had seen of Oswin's new school was not bad, if not big. The entire town seemed sleepy to her, and right now, more than anything, she needed to be awake.

She sat up. "OS-WIN!"

"YEAH, CLARA?" Oswin shouted back from across the hall.

"I'M GOING TO GO EXPLORE A BIT."

"WHAT IS THERE TO EXPLORE? I HEARD THAT THE CLOSEST BOOKSTORE IS IN THE NEXT TOWN OVER." came Oswin's scathing reply.

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT THERE IS? I HAVEN'T BEEN YET. YOU STAY HERE, OKAY?"

"NO OTHER REAL OPTION, IS THERE?" A pause, and then- "IS NETFLIX WORKING AGAIN?"

Clara huffed, rolling off the bed and grabbing her keys. "YEAH. THE PASSWORD'S TAPED TO THE WALL IN THE LIVING ROOM."

She heard Oswin's door opening, and looked around on the floor for her bag- wait, it was by the front door.

There was the sound of crinkling paper- presumably Oswin finding the password- and another yell."YOU COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING BETTER THAN RYCBAR?"

"NOPE. BYE!"

"BYE!" Oswin yelled back.

Clara walked down the hall, slung her bag over her shoulder and paused, hand on door. "WOULD YOU ACCEPT RYCBAR123?"

"GOOD-BYE, CLARA."

Clara walked down the sidewalk, exhaling sharply. She was glad that she had the AC working again, because it was extremely hot out here, even for the middle of July. She hated to think what august would be like.

It wasn't long before she reached the inner part of town- the whole place was set up close together. A few people Clara vaguely remembered seeing before smiled and said hello. Clara smiled and said hello back.

A tall man brushed past her, accidentally tagging her shoulder. He instantly turned, and she got a chance to look at his face more- he had very striking features, and, for some reason, a brown pinstripe suit.

"I am so sorry I hit you- are you okay? I've got to run, sorry, sorry-" and he turned and dashed the other way. Clara blinked and turned back, only to be confronted by a blonde girl.

"Which way did he go?"

"Hm?"

"David. Guy in brown suit, white converse, incredible hair-" Then the girl seemed to register Clara as a human being and not an information stand. "I don't know you." It was a statement.

"And I don't know you."

"No. That's not right. I know everyone in Neptune Creek. We've barely got a population of 600."

Clara put out her hand. "Just moved here with my sister. I'm Clara Oswald- you are?"

"Rose. Rose Tyler."

"That your boyfriend?" Clara jerked her head toward where David had run off to.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Kind of. Don't suppose you know where he's run off to?"

"Not a clue."

"Might as well get a lemonade or something then, because it's absolutely sweltering and he's not coming back. Been out to the coffee shop yet?"

Clara shook her head. "Haven't been anywhere yet."

"Come on, then. Where'd you say you were from?"

She didn't know it, then, but Rose Tyler was the beginning of something new, something better than she had ever imagined could happen in a place like Neptune Creek. The day was July 23, and there were nine days left until Clara Oswald's new life began.


	2. Day 1: The Blue Box

Day 1: The Blue Box

Clara glanced at the clock again.

'He's fantastic, Clars.' Rose had assured her. Fantastically late, more like. Twenty minutes past, and he wasn't there.

She flipped another page of her book, but she wasn't really paying any attention– her whole body had been buzzing with nerves since about ten minutes ago. She'd never really believed that blind dates worked, and this was confirming her suspicions– she'd only stayed so far because Rose had promised her free wifi and refills if she stayed the while time.

Clara's phone buzzed. She dragged the notifications down– Oswin wanted her to drive to some theater camp later that week. For God's sake, it was the first of August– couldn't she save the plays and performances until school started?

Clara's fingernails clicked against the screen and she made a mental note to cut them later. 'Ask mom'. Her mother could still drive, but it was ultimately up to her nurse whether she did or not.

The reply came relatively quickly for Os, who usually took a full minute to type.  
'She already said Alice can't. Please?'

'Os, I'm on a date.'– lie. Sort of. She was on a date, but her date hadn't shown up yet. 'I'll text you later. Kay?'

No response. She slid the phone back into her pocket.

A drop of rain fell on the windowpane, and the expression on Clara Oswald's face could have boiled it right then and there. She hated the rain, and she'd brought no umbrella– so when she left, she'd have to walk home in the rain.

_and alone_, a little voice in the back of her head whispered, but she shooed it off and turned another page.

Her phone buzzed again, but this time it was Rose.  
'OMG I AM SO SORRY HE'S LATE HE'S RLY LATE BUT HE'LL B THERE SOON I PROMISE K'

'No texting while driving, Rose, and okay. Got it.'

'How did yui know? *you. sorry.'

'Exactly. Are you coming to proctor the date?'

'Yeah but Ill be latre than he is. got to go bye'

Clara slipped her phone back into her pocket. The rain began to come down faster and harder as the door flew open. A man– his age? Twenty one, twenty two somewhere around there. Dark hair that was very damp so– several shades lighter. His eyes were bright and green. Very, very green.

"Hi. Hi, I'm so sorry, but have you seen a girl come in here? Er, blonde, big mouth, ye high–" he held up his hand to about where five foot four would be– "goes by the name of Rose? Rose Tyler."

Clara's hopes fell a bit– when had they got that high? Well, he was gorgeous..but of course he was looking for Rose. The cute ones always were. "Yeah, I know her, and she'll want me to tell you that she's got a boyfriend and they're very happy togethe–"

"I know." the person sighed in exasperation. "She's dating my brother. She was trying to set me up on a datey thing today and I was stuck in traffic forever and I think the poor girl I kept waiting's left and God I need to find Rose I am very much freaking out." he ran a hand through his damp hair and froze when Clara stood and put her hands on his shoulders.

"Okay, Chin Boy."

"Oi! What's wrong with my chin?

"Careful, dear, you'll put someone's eye out. Breathe in...now out through your mouth. Do it again. You. Will. Be. Fine." While he was calming down, she tilted her head at him. "You wouldn't happen to be John Smith, would you?"

He blinked, pale green eyes refocusing. "How do you know my name?"

"Did Rose happen to tell you anything about this mystery girl?" Clara ducked around his question.

"Dark hair...brown eyes...and she had this great name. One of the best names I've heard in a while. Cara something?"

"Clara Oswald, perhaps?" prompted Clara Oswald.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she moved her hands off his shoulders and checked her phone. "Rose should be here in a few minutes."

"You're Clara." It wasn't a question.

She waved and sat again. "Clara Eleanor Oswald, reporting for duty!"

John set down his bag and took the seat across from her. "Jonathan Matthew Smith, at ease. So, I'm not as completely and utterly screwed as I thought I was?"

"No." Clara laughed a bit, then reprimanded herself for laughing.

"What were you reading?"

A flush crept into Clara's cheeks as she realized that her copy of Rage of the Red Lanterns was haphazardly open on the little table. "Nothing. Er, it was a thing, but not my thing. It was my sister's thing–I was reading the thing for my sister! Yes."

"You've got a sister, then."

Clara began to try and shuffle the comic back into her bag without John seeing the title. "Yeah. Oswin's fifteen."

"Oswin. Interesting name."

"I think Mum was drunk when she chose the name. What about you? Got any siblings?"

"Too many." John rolled his eyes and started counting them off. "Chris is the youngest, then there's David– you've probably seen him and Rose, they're snogging practically all the time–"

"You noticed too?"

"It's like they're addicted to the eating of each other's faces!" Clara was beginning to think that maybe this date wasn't half bad.

"Addiction is a good one, but I thought more along the lines of magnets in their tongues." She smirked.

"Yes! Oh my god yes." And then they were both smiling at each other and Clara only noticed that his hands were moving a second too late. He began to flip through the front of the book, still talking. "I'm next oldest after David and Peter's the oldest, so that's all for my family.

"You took my–er, my sister's book!" Clara tried to swipe it back, but John held it above his head.

"You wouldn't be trying to get it back if it was your sister's." he said languidly. His eyes settled on her again and he brought the book back down. "You're a fandom nerd, aren't you?"

Clara grabbed her book back. "No. I'm not."

"How many Orange Lanterns are there?

"One, Agent Orange, but he makes constructs of all the things he consumes, but that proves noth–"

"What is written on the cover of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?"

"Don't Panic, but still–"

"And what symbol is this?"

"The Vulcan 'Live Long and Prosper' sign." Clara muttered. "But everyone knows that."

"Nope," he said, popping the p. "Only fanpeoples know that symbol, Ozzy."

Clara grimaced. "Don't call me that. Please."

He shrugged. "You called me Chin Boy."

"Well, you have got a chin."

"And you have got a comic book."

Clara sat up straighter. "Yes, I do have a comic book. And you are jealous of my comic book."

"How do you know I don't have a comic book?"

A mad idea popped into her head. "You're absolutely right." Clara said, lunging across the table. "I've got no idea." She grabbed his bag and began rifling through it.

"Well then."

She pulled out a laptop, a sweater and about seven USB drives. Clara looked at him quizzically, but he was busy going through her bag, which didn't really surprise her. She kept looking– there was his phone, another USB, Paper Towns, and a flyer for a play as well as a script, fully marked. "Oh– you're a writer. That makes more sense."

"No, I just carry around a million USBs for no reason." John deadpanned. "You're either a hacker or a coder, can't tell which– PERL for Beginners? Nice. And a fangirl. Very definitely a fangirl."

"I'm not a fangirl."

"Yeah, you are."

"I just like reading. A lot."

"Fangirl!" John coughed.

"Playwriter!" Clara returned.

The door burst open again, and Rose burst through, rain streaming down her face and messing with the veritable ton of mascara she used.

"I am so sorry." she gasped, twisting her hair behind her ear. "Traffic was murder. You getting on okay?"

Then Rose actually took a moment and looked at the situation– both were frozen with the other's possessions in their hands. "Clars, isn't that your bag?"

"Clars! I am calling you Clars." declared John. Clara ignored them both.

"Rose– you might want to go to the bathroom..your face appears to be falling off." Clara motioned at Rose's face.

Rose gave her a bit of a blank look, then ran off to the bathroom. Clara mouthed to John. "One...two...three.."

A scream that was very definitely Rose's pierced the air, and both Clara and John began laughing.

Rose reappeared, still wringing her hair out. Her face no longer looked like something out of a horror movie. "Thanks for telling me , Clara."

"Welcome."

"Right then." she slapped her hands on her smock, making John jump a bit and Clara giggle. "Anything I can get either of you?"

"Nah." John glanced at Clara, who shook her head.

"No thanks."

"Okay. I'll be up at the counter, then."

Clara noticed that the scripts and USBs were still scattered on the table, while her things had been put away nicely into her bag. "Oh, sorry." She began haphazardly stuffing things back into the gear bag when something fell from the sweater to the floor with a thunk. John's face was suddenly pink. "I'll get that."

"No, I can, it's closer to me–" Both Clara and John bent to pick up the object. Clara saw it first and her fingers wrapped around it just barely before his. She lifted it up to examine it as he grew steadily more embarrassed.

It was a blue box.

There was a label– hand painted, too– around the top, stating that it was a POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX, and a instruction sign in one panel. There was a ambulance sticker on one side that had nearly peeled away. But why would he have a blue toy box in his gear?

"What's this, then?" she asked, turning it.

"It's a police box." John mumbled.

"What's a police box?"

"It's a box that the police used in the fifties."

"You're not being helpful. What I'd like to know is why there is a fifties police box in your bag, and I think you know that."

He looked down and slouched forward a bit. "It's part of a game."

"What game?"

John looked up at her. "I can't explain about the game here, I'd have to show you the rest of the stuff."

Clara shrugged. "I've got time, Chin Boy." She set the police box on the table and twirled it.

"The first thing you need to know is that the police box–" he put his hand on it and stopped the twirling. "is called a TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

"What's the second thing I need to know?"

John smiled at her again– but this time it was so very genuine that she had to start smiling back. He took her hand. "The second thing?"

"Yeah?"

"It's a very, very long story."

"So, let me get this straight. You made up a character called the Doctor who's some sort of alien vigilante detective–"

"Nope. The Doctor's just a traveller."

Clara glared at John. "Who seems to solve mysteries a lot."

"Exactly."

"And he travels around in his TARDIS beating bad guys and saving lives,"

"You're getting it."

"And whoever ends up with the police box in their room on the first of the month gets to be the Doctor."

"Bingo!" John clapped loudly, then stopped. More that a few people who shared the sidewalk with them were beginning to look at them funny. Clara didn't mind so much; however, visiting a guy's house on the first date is usually a one–night stand, and Clara was very definitely not looking for one of those. However, John didn't seem to be either, which both pleased her and scared her. Who knows? Rose could have set her up with the one Smith brother who was a psychopathic murderer.

"So, you LARP with your own character."

"Pretty much, yeah." The last drop of the rainstorm fell on his eyelash and he blinked it off.

"Two things I'm not clear on."

"Shoot."

"Does being the Doctor mean you have to wear the stupid bowtie?"

John glared at Clara and straightened the ridiculous purple thing. "I wear the bow tie because bowties are cool."

"Of course they are. Second thing: how do you distinguish the Doctor?"

He frowned at her. "What do you mean, distinguish?"

"Well, you can't all be Doctor Smith, that would be stupid. So is it like Doctor John? Doctor Peter, so on and..." she trailed off when she realized he was shaking his head.

"You've missed the point. His name is the Doctor."

"Yeah, but just the Doctor? Doctor who?"

John got that ha–I've–got–a–private–joke face. "Say that again?"

"Doctor...who?"

"I can't get over how much I like hearing that."

"But seriously. How do you tell each other's portrayal of the characters apart?"

"Um..." John fiddled with the TARDIS, spinning it around his fingers thoughtfully. "We don't, really. I mean, you could go by age- when each of us started playing the Doctor, I guess. Which makes me the Eleventh. David's a year younger, so he'd be the Tenth, and Chris is three years younger but he started at nine, so…Ninth. Peter came up with the whole thing when he was twelve."

"David's a year younger than you? Really?" Clara knew already that David was twenty six– Rose talked about David half the time her mouth was open– which meant that John was twenty seven.

"Yeah. What, guessed differently?"

"I thought you were around twenty–two!" Clara herself was only twenty, a fact that she now resolved not to tell John.

"How flattering, Miss Oswald. Hey!" She had punched him in the arm.

"And then you make up plot lines and act them out?"

He moved his hands in a so–so fashion, nearly dropping the police box. They both slowed at the queue to cross the street. "Part of it is acting them out, part of it is a sort of Doctor–video–diary. Three episodes per month to whichever Doctor is chosen, to be filmed on the fifth, twelfth, and twentieth; on the last day of the month we all sit around and watch them. An infallible home video system."

"How do enemies work?"

"The enemy gets a symbol kind of like the TARDIS in their room, first of the month."

The little walk sign flashed, and they began to cross.

"And...does the Doctor travel alone?"

He laughed. "Hardly ever. He usually picks up companions."

"Companion like Firefly?"

"No. Ugh, Clars. That is disgusting. No." John gagged. "No. Peter never told us who his original companion was, but the one Chris started with that began the whole companion trend was actually Rose."

"Rose? Rose Marie Tyler knows about the Doctor?"

"How do you think she and David started out? Chris brought her home, told her about the Doctor, and she wanted to play– this was when he was ten? eleven? So he played as the Ninth Doctor and she was his companion. Then she and David became best friends, then she was his companion for a while– and to be honest, they thought up the best plots, those two. Amazing one about a starship and clockwork droids– they could write a book, Clara. That's how good they are. And then they started dating, and that's all fluffy and disgusting." John made a face.

He held the door open for her, and she walked into the Smith home.

"Hallo? Anyone here?" John hollered, slinging his bag onto the red couch in the living room.

"Yeah!" a person who was either Peter or Chris called back. A person leaned out of the hallway. "Hey, John, how–" he paused when he saw Clara.

He wore a baggy leather jacket over a olive green shirt, and had the same bright eyes as John– but definitely a few years younger. Chris then. "Who's the girlfriend?" he asked John, smiling sunnily at Clara.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Yeah, he's got to buy me a drink first."

John glanced down at her. "Hard work, are you, Clara?"

"But worth it." she smiled mischievously. "So, Chin Boy..." she deftly snatched the TARDIS from his fingers. "Why don't you show me the stars?"

John threw open the door to his room. "Welcome, Clara Oswald, to my magnificent–oh, that's not fair!"

Clara didn't see what the unfair thing was. She was a bit busy fiddling with the shiny electric toothbrush she had spotted. When she shook it, the end slammed out, glowed green, and buzzed. Meanwhile, John snatched something off the quilt–swathed bed and stormed into the hall.

"CHRISTOPHER! WHO LEFT THE DALEK ON MY BED?"

"DAVID. WHY?"

"IT'S MY TURN TO BE THE DOCTOR. YOU CAN'T HAVE THE DOCTOR BE THE ENEMY TOO."

"DAVID SAID HE'S ON A DATE ONE OF THE DOCTOR DAYS, SO HE THOUGHT YOU COULD COME UP WITH A GOOD PLOT WITH THAT."

The thing Clara saw John grab was chucked rather rudely back into the room. She set down the toothbrush and picked it up.

"DAVID AND ROSE ARE THE DREAM TEAM. I CAN BARELY COME UP WITH PENNY DREADFULS AND DAVID KNOWS THAT. ALSO, THE WHOLE POINT OF THE DOCTOR DAY IS THAT–"

Chris interrupted. "NOT MY PROBLEM. JUST GET YOUR GIRLFRIEND TO HELP YOU BRAINSTORM."

"I HAVE NO GIRLFRIEND...but if I did that actually wouldn't be a bad plan. Clara?"

Clara didn't respond, so John stuck his head around the corner. "Clara? You still there?"

She held up the thing. "Why on earth do you have a pepper shaker with a whisk and a plunger?"

"It's a Dalek."

"No, it's a pepper shaker. See?" She shook it, and flecks of black cane off the bottom.

"Shit, I broke the Dalek."

John ran over to her and gingerly took the pepper shaker form her hands. He held it above his head and rubbed his finger along the bottom, muttering 'shit shit shit shit' when a piece of the base appeared to fall off. Finally he looked up and saw Clara giving him a look.

"But that's beside the point. Do you want to help me brainstorm?"

"Why me?" she asked, subconsciously fiddling with the whisk.

"Because you're the person who first met Rose when you moved here, and you're the one in my bedroom right now instead of any of the other blind dates she's set me up on." He shrugged. "So really, just luck."

"I like this kind of luck." She set down the Dalek and hesitated, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "So, none of the other blind dates got this far?"

He grabbed a nearby pillow and threw it at her.


	3. Day 2: Gallifrey Landing

**A/N Hello! Thanks to RandomW for the review AND TheLovelyWhouffle for the follow/favorite! This chapter's a bit shorter than the last one, so...sorry about that. Disclaimer: I do not own DW. Thanks to everyone who's tried it so far!**

Nearly Day 2: What Will Follow

She had no contact but for a few texts with John until three days later. It was around ten thirty when she gave up and decided to shower...or maybe binge–watch Next Gen? Oswin was asleep, so she couldn't make snarky comments, and Picard wasn't going anywhere...so. Both. definitely both.

Before she did either, however, she was distracted by a low_ brrring brring_ sound. Her phone. She ran out of her room and picked it up, answering without looking at the person who was calling.

"Hi?"

"Fangirl here?"

"Doctor there?"

"Damn straight. How's your day been?"

"Pretty good, I guess...mostly work stuff." Clara shrugged. "Tried to make a soufflé again, but...well. It didn't work out too well."

He laughed. Clara decided that she very much liked his laugh– it was sweet, and kind of melodious in a way that made you want to hear it again.

"Where do you work?"

"This little computer business out by where Rose lives...not much to do there, just building up a resume for college. Why?"

"Just curious, I guess."

She decided to change the topic. "How was your day, then?"

He sighed, and she imagined him running his fingers through his hair. "Mnemh."

"Not too great, then."

"No day where I've got classes is good."

Classes? He never said that he was in school before. As far as she knew, Neptune Creek didn't have a community college– or anything besides the K–12 Oswin was enrolled in

"You like talking at night a lot." It wasn't a question. He had texted her the past few nights as well- but barely ever during the day.

He sighed. "You're absolutely right."

"Why?"

"It keeps the darkness away, I guess. Less fear."

Clara frowned. She knew that he couldn't be fearless- all lonely boys have to cry at some point in their lives. But the darkness?

"What are you afraid of?"

"Tomorrow," he said simply, "and what will follow."

Then he hung up.

She went to sleep that night feeling confused and a little bit hopeful- but of what, she wasn't sure.

* * *

Day 2: Gallifrey Landing

"WAKE UP, CLARY! UP, UP, UP!"

"Oswin Elizabeth Oswald, you will get off my bed this instant- OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES." Clara groaned, reaching for the rather heavy pillow she left near the side of the bed specifically for such occasions. However, the pillow was nowhere to be found, and Clara was forced to lift her gaze to her sister's eyes, which currently looked highly caffeinated and therefore terrifying.

"Mr. Smith's come to visit you. Clary, do you have a boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend, Os. And why is he even here? How did he get my address?"

"Rose gave it to him."

"UGHHHH." She dropped back down onto her bed and pulled the remaining covers around her tightly. Then something clicked. "Wait, you called him Mr. Smith. Why?"

Oswin shrugged. "Isn't that what you're supposed to call teachers?"

Teachers? Clara tried to shrug, but it was too much work.  
"What time is it?"

"Around one."

Allowing her mind to wander a bit, she began to drift off to sleep again– but suddenly she sat bolt upright. "Oswin, it's not the fifth, is it? August fifth?"

"Yeah, it is. Why?"

"Oh, crap." The Doctor Day.

"Clara?" she recognized John's voice. He poked his head around the door and her face began to feel flushed. "Nice hair, Clars."

"You're one to talk." she grumbled, trying in vain to comb down her ridiculously puffy bedhead with her fingers. She finally gave up.

John looked around her room, from the Star Wars poster above her bed to the Green Lantern designs scattered about the walls. There were at least three bookshelves, and the top of one was lined in video games. He caught her veritably murderous gaze after a full scan of the room.

"I swear, if you judge me, Doctor boy, you're dead."

He held his hands up. "Haven't said anything."

"Os, Chin, get out. I'm getting dressed."

"Chin?" Oswin asked. "You call my theater teacher Chin?"

Clara looked at John, who shrugged. "What?"

"You're her summer theater teacher?"

"I've got to have a job, don't I? And I'm not the actual teacher. I'm the 'creative studies' director. I show kids how to write skits and stories and stuff."

Clara was impressed. "Learn something new every day. Now shoo."

John closed the door and Clara leapt up from her bed, muttering curses under her breath. She'd forgotten that the fifth was a Doctor Day. She pulled a dress from her closet and began to pull it over her head. "Is today the day of Snog?"

"Yup, that would be today."

"'The day of Snog?'" Oswin was trying very hard not to laugh. Clara ignored her.

"Where are you going to be, Oswin?"

"Off at the library."

Clara snatched her phone from the charger and haphazardly stuffed it in her purse. Then she proceeded to drop to the floor and tug on her shoes. "Nearly ready."

"Okay."

She jumped to her feet, opened the door, and actually looked at John for the first time in a few days.

His purple bowtie was still there, along with the matching vest– oh god it was crooked. Would it be incredibly awkward if she reached up to straighten it? She didn't care, it was almost too haphazard to save but she tried anyways. For some reason, he was wearing a pocket watch, and the toothbrush thing that he had in his room a few days before was poking out of his pocket.  
"What's the deal with the toothbrush?"

"Toothbrush?"

"Yeah, the electric one in your pocket."

"Clara, stop making innuendos." called Oswin from down the hall.

"SHUT UP, OSWIN. I MEANT THIS THING." She gestured at the toothbrush.

John gave her a look of disbelief. "It's a sonic screwdriver. Not a toothbrush."

"Sonic screwdriver?"

"Sonic screwdriver. Shall we go?" he said, offering his arm to her.

Clara smiled at him, slipping her arm through his. "Let's."

"Allons–y, then!"

* * *

"Hello!" John sang as he went into the house. Clara followed, looking around for changes– there was David,,waving at her, and one other person she hadn't yet who, judging by the information given would be Peter.

John swept his arm extravagantly, nearly hitting Clara. "This is Clara Eleanor Oswald, the very kind person who has chosen to help me brainstorm because someone–" he rather pointedly glared at David– "decided that kissing was better than having adventures."

David huffed and settled back into his seat. "Rose and I are just going on a trip, okay? I tried to tell her that there was a Doctor Day today, but–"

John put his hands up in mock surrender. "All I'm saying is that the Doctor Days were established for you to set up your snog sessions around."

Peter ignored the bickering pair and turned to Clara. "What'd you come up with, then?"

"A thing. With Cybermen. And Cybermites that convert the Doctor into the Cyber Planner. We changed the Cybermen so that they could convert Time Lords too. That way, you've got the Doctor being both the enemy and hero."

Peter nodded. "That's actually pretty good."

Clara smiled a bit, face feeling a bit warm. "Thanks."

"Have you taken her up to Gallifrey yet?" Chris asked, walking into the kitchen.

"Not yet...we could go. If you want to, after we've finished with the recording?" he turned to her, face slightly hopeful. Clara had absolutely no idea what Gallifrey was.

"Sure?"

"Then let's get started."

"Hello! This is the Doctor speaking, and here with me is the lovely Clara Oswald–"

"Hi!"

"–Who served as a companion (quite a good one, too)"

"Why, thank you!"

"–in my last adventure, which shall henceforth be known as–" he leaned in to the camera– "The Nightmare in Silver."

This whole Doctor business was a lot more 'video diary' and a lot less 'action adventure' than Clara had thought. However, she saw how his face changed, how his actions altered, how John sort of fell into the role. When he was like this, he wasn't John Smith, techie– he was entirely the Doctor, time traveller extraordinaire, and she wasn't sure what to think.

The Doctor turned to her, and she thought maybe they were finished, but he was only talking about the bomb subplot they had worked out. That was a pretty nice twist, and Clara congratulated herself for working it out. "Clara here knew that I needed the planet nice and NOT exploded, however, so.." Even his voice sounded more animated.

Finally he switched off the camera. The light that came in his window was that of the late afternoon, and again Clara reprimanded herself for sleeping in til one.

"Did I tell you about Gallifrey yet?"

He spun in the spinny chair to face her. She shook her head.

"What's a Gallifrey?"

And then, the second most surprising thing of the day happened. He took her hand.

Her skin tingled in that he's–touching–me–it's–only–our–second–date way, and she swallowed, trying to force it down.

"The question is not 'what's a Gallifrey.' The question is 'where's a Gallifrey'. And even then, it's not properly worded. Gallifrey," John said quietly, drawing her to her feet, "is a planet in the star system Kasterborous. It's the home planet of the Time Lords. And I want to show it to you."

They began walking out the door, through the hall. "How is that possible?" Clara asked as they stepped through the back door. "You just said that it's in an entirely different star system."

"You'll see."

They stopped when they reached a giant tree in his backyard. An orange leaf fluttered down and smacked Clara in the face.

"Lovely." she said, pulling it off. That was when she realized that John was gone, climbing up somehere above her.

"I don't usually climb trees, Doctor." she called up. There was a rustle of leaves and John appeared again.

"Wonderful day to start, then. Besides, there's no ladder to Gallifrey."

"You could stick that on a motivational poster," Clara grumbled, testing her shoe against the tree. A huge section of bark ceaked, groaned, and came off, sending Clara backward onto the ground. She looked up towards where John was it what was meant to be an accusatory glare, but he had already left the low–hanging branch he was on she finally found stable footholds, she began her ascent.

"There we are...up a bit, up a bit–perfect." John hauled her up onto this sort of platform thing in the middle of the tree. She stood unsteadily, and John caught her, hands on her shoulders, the inverse of the cafe.

"Now," he said gently, his pale green eyes lit with bright orange light, "I want you to look up."

Clara did, and her breath hitched in her throat.

The light twisted and warped around the vermillion leaves of August, making every cloud glow like an ember and every branch shine like metal. She reached out to one and was surprised when the wood was rough and sun–warmed, not cool and smooth.

"It was said that Gallifrey's sky was a burnt orange color, and the trees glowed silver in the sunset." John said quietly. "This was our secret hiding spot when we were little, Peter and I. This is where the Doctor was born."

"It's beautiful." Clara whispered. She was so awash in the dark and golden beauty of it all that she didn't hear John's reply.

"Gallifrey's gone."

John had to leave and teach his class–thing, so Clara was a bit surprised when someone caught her wrist on the way out the door. She turned and met Peter's gaze.

"Could I have a word with you?" he asked pleasantly. Clara noted the sharp set of his eyebrows and the difference from John's voice...Peter's accent sounded different. Scottish? Maybe. Come to think of it, David's sometimes fluctuated like that too...

"Uh, okay."

He let go of her wrist and coughed a bit.

"If the first few storylines are a bit rough, don't worry, it's fine. John's just a bit out of practice."

"Sorry?" He had done brilliantly earlier, though...and what did Peter mean, out of practice?

"Has John been acting..odd, in any way?" he said.

Clara frowned. "I've only just met him, I don't know what odd is for him. Why?"

"Because, Clara, you haven't known him long enough to know this fully but..." Peter raked his hand through his hair in a very John–like gesture. "He's scared. And he's got a very good reason to be."

"Scared of what?" _Tomorrow. And what will follow_. a voice whispered in her head. No, she told herself firmly. He hadn't meant it like that. Anyways, that really didn't mean anything.

"Ask Rose about Amelia Pond. And when you do, I won't judge you if you don't come back."

He turned and left her to walk home alone.

* * *

AMELIA POND, 20, OF NEPTUNE CREEK DROWNED – read more here!

Clara clicked on the link. A picture of John and a tall, laughing woman appeared on the screen. Clara gaped.

"That woman is made of legs! How is that even possible?"

The woman–Amy–was absolutely gorgeous. She had long, red hair and a wonderful smile. John looked happier than Clara had seen him.

She scrolled down.

Amelia Pond, age twenty, died last night in a tragic accident near Essex Creek. According to witness Jonathan Smith (pictured above with Amelia), she dropped a unknown prized possession into the creek. Against Smith's warnings, Amelia dove in after it and never came up.  
Investigation and more to follow  
–September 5th, 2013

So that was what Peter was talking about– Amy had been the last companion of John's Doctor. He was 'out of practice'– he hadn't played the Doctor since 2012. But Peter couldn't have just wanted to tell her to beware, that it was dangerous….it was about John. John and this Amelia Pond. Somehow, he was different now- that much she could see. His smile filled his eyes in the picture. Did she ever see them do that?

No. She hadn't.

But he was still bright, and lively, and so wonderful. He was still everything he was, Clara was sure of it. _Ask Rose about Amelia Pond. And when you do, I won't judge you if you don't come back_.

She printed out the article and stuffed it in her bag. And with that, she resolved to always come back.


	4. Day 3: Being Diplomatic Peoples

**A/N In response to the review- Rory just hasn't popped up yet– he'll be there, and so will River. Donna shows up briefly at the end of this chapter, but probably won't come back because she wasn't as fun to write. ALSO IMPORTANT UPDATEY BIT HERE so on Sunday I start a five–day camp at which it is very likely I shall make no friends. During this friendless camp, I cannot update. So on the next scheduled update day (Friday) I'll try to put up the next 2–3 chapters, depending on how much I've edited. Thanks to lisagrrrrr for the favorte/follow!**

**This is the chapter that I actually wrote first, like as a concept for the rest of the thing- and it is...*drumroll* the fiftieth AU! Enjoy!**

**Edit: OH GOD I AM SO SORRY THERE ARE SO MANY MISTAKES REUPLOADING SORRY SORRY**

**Also, I can see that people are reading this, so...review please?**

Day 3: Being Diplomatic Peoples

The next morning, her home phone rang her awake. Groggily, she picked up the line and held it to her ear. "Yes?"

"Clara." Very definitely Peter's voice.

"Hello, the Scottish Eyebrows." She struggled into a sitting position. "What's happening?"

"Crisis on Gallifrey. We need assistance. If you still want to come, that is." Peter's voice sounded strained.

"What problem do we have today?"

"The Chin has gone up a tree and won't come down."

"Roger, Sergeant. I'll be over."

"Thanks, Oswald."

Clara scoffed at him and hung up. Twenty minutes later, she was pulling up at the Smith household– and she was definitely beginning to see the problem. "Very Arthur Dent." she called up at her sort–of–boyfriend, who ignored her and continued sitting obstinately on Gallifrey Landing while a tree removal squad shouted murder at him.

He glanced down and spotted Clara. "Hello, Clars." He shouted. "Having a nice morning?"

"Sarcasm detected and duly ignored."

"While you're here, would you mind telling these very kind people to shove off and don't look back? Politely, I mean."

Clara turned to the squad. "Shove off. Politely."

The members began to grumble and shout at her too, when Peter suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Clara. Inside. Now."

He grabbed her elbow and pulled her in. John looked away and continued ignoring the shouting people.

Chris shut the door behind them and Peter slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. David walked out of the hall, eating an apple. "Hey, Clara. Heard the news?"

She walked to the table and took a seat. "No, not really. What's going on out there?"

Peter slid a violently blue flyer at her. "There's a guy next door. Name's Bellamy Hurt."

Clara winced. "Not the best name."

"The guy's got a personality to match." Chris spoke from the couch, throwing a bouncy ball up at the ceiling. "He's trying to tear down Gallifrey."

"Tear down Gallifrey? Why would he want to do that?"

"Says it's sticking into his yard and invading his property." Peter said drily. "And it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that he's had a grudge against us since we broke his front window nine years ago. Or the other thing."

"Other thing?" Clara asked, but they all ignored her.

"So last night, he sends us a warning notice– over there." David pointed at a piece of paper that had clearly been crumpled up and thrown at something about ten times.

"And John, being the obstinate child that he is, has decided to protest, even though he claimed for years that 'Gallifrey was gone' just because a bit of it burned that one time." David scoffed, which reminded Clara–

"Why do you two sound, like, Scottish and they don't?"

"Adopted." Peter and David said in unison. Clara frowned.

"John didn't tell me that."

"Bet John didn't tell you about Amy either, but you know anyway." Chris said, pointing to the printout that Clara quickly stuffed deeper in her bag. "Our Johnny likes his secrets."

Peter gave her a look, but it quickly passed and he spoke again. "It's your turn to try and get him down, then."

"Climbing more trees?"

"Technically, Clara, you're climbing the same tree as you did yesterday." David pointed out, but Clara brushed it off.

"Why don't you lot have a gander at it, then?"

"What do you think we've been up since six doing?" David objected.

Clara shrugged. "Whinging and eating apples, I don't know."

"That's completely rubbish." Peter stated firmly. "I hate apples."

* * *

"What would happen if Gallifrey fell?"

John turned sharply at the noise– there, in a neighboring tree, sat Clara Eleanor Oswald, placid, like she'd been there the whole time.

"I mean, apart from the obvious. Tree falls in the suburbs, there are people around, noise and sadness." Clara stood on the branch she. was on and clambered onto another, farther up. "I like this one. See how the branches go around in rings? Like a spiral staircase."

"I know. That one's called–"

"Akhaten." Clara finished for him. "Your brothers told me the stories. The rings of Akhaten, and the pyramid city. Beautiful, they said it was."

"But Akhaten can't replace Gallifrey. It can't even come close."

"And it doesn't have to." She walked as if on a tightrope towards him, balancing on a branch above Gallifrey Landing. Clara considered jumping, but deemed the platform too rickety. "Scottish Eyebrows didn't tell me exactly what Hurt had against the tree."

John broke into a grin. "Did you just call my brother Scottish Eyebrows?" he asked through a laugh.

Clara shrugged. "Maybe I did." She settled into the branch above him. "So, Hurt versus Gallifrey."

John sighed. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Yup." she said, popping the p. "Now tell."

"A few years ago, there was a fire near the base of the tree. It burned up almost the entire house that used to be here as well as the left side of the tree. See how the branches are thicker on the right?"

"Yeah."

"The fire also...erm..." he coughed a bit– " killed my Da."

"Oh." Clara said in a small voice. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you had nothing to do with it. He and Hurt's brother, Paul, died in the fire. Gallifrey burned, but they didnt care. Hurt's been trying to get rid of it since then, but this is new." He flourished a neon blue flyer like the one that Peter had. "Actually hiring a tree removal company for a tree that's not even on his property? That's on the edge of rude. And I am not moving, if that's what you came up here to do." his voice had an edge of annoyance, and he drew his knees up to his chest.

"Why would they send me to bring you down? Peter's stronger than I am." She began to move down to the Landing. "Have any of you tried talking to Mr. Hurt?"

John scoffed. "The man barely does anything than grumble at us, Clara."

"So? You're saying–" she came to a seat facing him– "you've never tried reasoning with him. At all."

"Nope."

"Hey, it's that girl! Hey, both of you! Get down!" The tree squad started yelling at Clara too.

"Oi! Pop off, er..."

"Crackling mortals." supplied John.

"Pop off, crackling mortals!" She tried to throw a leaf at them.

"What did you say about property earlier?"

"He can't take something off someone else's property, can he?"

"Hey! Idiots! Up here!" John shouted. "Hurt can't touch this! Go away!"

"He's paying us a hundred dollars to get this thing gone." yelled one of the people. "You go away!"

John rolled his eyes. "See? Rude." he said to Clara.

There was a buzz in Clara's pocket, then a loud ringing noise. She pulled it out and answered. "Hello?"

"Clara, where are you?"

Clara glanced at John, and then back down at the shouting people below her. "Oswin, really not the time."

There was a pause. "Ooh, you're with Mr. Smith, aren't you."

"Shut up. And stop calling him that. It's weird."

"What are you doing then?"

"I'm in the middle of something, okay?" said Clara, ignoring the catcalls of the tree removal squad and the feeling that John was staring at her.

"You were kissing him, weren't you?"

"What? No! Oswin!"

"Just tell me where you are."

Clara sighed, glaring at John, who was indeed staring at her. She knew exactly what would happen if she told Oswin where she was, but she had to. It was her sister asking. "I'm in a tree." she muttered.

Almost instantaneously, Oswin started screeching. "CLARA AND JOHNNY BOY, SITTING IN A TREE, K.I.S.S.I.N.G."

Clara set down her phone, where Oswin's song continued. John picked it up. "Hey. Oswald. You're not allowed to call me Johnny boy. I'm your teacher. In fact," he said, sounding incredulous, "nobody calls me Johnny boy."

"Except me."

"Except her. Wait, when did you call me that?"

She shrugged. "Chris used it the other day, and I guess I did too, sometime after."

"Pretty sure you've not called me that one."

"Yeah I have–"

"No, no, from you I've gotten Chin, Chin boy and Doctor boy which are all admittedly better than Johnny boy."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yup."

"Okay. But Oswin, you can't call him that because he's your teache– oh, she's hung up. Good."

She looked up and saw John silently laughing at her. She swatted him on the arm. "Shut up, Chin."

"I think I like you, Clara Oswald."

"Right back at you. Now." She stood unsteadily, letting her hair fall over her face, which had suddenly flushed red. "Are we going to go be diplomatic peoples and talk to the angry man with the unfortunate name?"

"Can't we be rebellious peoples and keep sitting on Gallifrey Landing?"

"Not really an option. You didn't even bring food."

He huffed and crossed his arms. "Well, can't we get David or Chris to come and Gallifrey–sit?"

"Peter comes with us for negotiation then?"

John thought about it, then made a face. "No. David is better with that. Peter would just be sarcastic until Hurt died from overexposure to snark– hm, on second thought..."

"No. We're bringing David." She climbed to a lower branch and smiled up at him. "I'll get the others?"

"Okay."

She jumped from her branch. "Geronimo!"

* * *

Bellamy Hurt was a rather crotchety old man, and when Clara, John and David rang his doorbell Clara got a glimpse of their problem. He opened the door, saw them, made a 'bleurchgh' noise, and closed the door.

"Hello? Mr. Hurt?" Clara asked.

"Go away."

"I'm not a Smith, sir."

"You're with dicky bow and sandshoes, so you're just as bad." came the reply. John frowned and straigtened his bowtie. "Not a dicky bow." he mumbled.

"Not sandshoes!" David protested, scuffing his bright red Converse against the curb.

"Yes they are!"

"Look, Mr. Hurt, we're just here to talk about your recent action toward the removal of Gallifrey and destruction of Gallifrey Landing."

The door opened a crack. Hurt peered around it. "What the hell is a gallifrey?"

Clara sighed. "The tree."

He opened it wider. "You people name your trees?"

"It's a symbolic thing," David said. "and the point is to keep it alive after it burned the last time." John had gone very still beside Clara. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his fist clemching.

Hurt's face darkened. "Do not remind me of last time." he said in quiet rage. "Now go away." He slammed the door in their faces.

"No. NO. STOP. DO YOU THINK WE DIDN'T LOSE PEOPLE IN THAT TOO?" John's voice was rising. He pounded on the door. "MY FATHER WAS KILLED. MY MOTHER LEFT US." The rage began to make his words catch.

"John, calm–" David put a hand on his brother's shoulder, but John brushed it off, still slamming his hand against the door.  
"AND WE KEEP IT THERE TO REMIND US OF THAT DAY. BECAUSE IT CAME BACK AFTER IT DIED. AND IT IS A REMINDER THAT IT. WILL. GET. BETTER."

This time, Hurt opened the door the full way. Hos eyes were full of rage. "Then it needs to come down, because you haven't learned the full lesson yet. It doesn't get better. It never gets better. Life is unfair, Smith, and you need to get that through that thick dreamer skull of yours."

John was shaking in anger. "I know life isn't fair. But it has to improve, because that's the point."

There was silence for a few seconds. Clara glanced from John, who finally seemed to be calming down, to Hurt, who seemed to be quietly furious, before she decided to step in. "Oh–kay, moving away from the emotional side, let's talk technical." She straightened a crisp red folder and shoved it into the man's hands. "This is the regulations for the trees in Neptune Creek. On the second page, you will see all the measurements for Gallifrey and the Landing. You'll find that it all meets specifications, so you cannot lodge a formal complaint. And if you can't lodge a formal complaint, you cannot give the order for the removal of the tree."

Hurt glared at her, managing to look incredulous and angry at the same time.

"Also," David moved forward, flipping to page three, "here you'll find statements that Gallifrey is our tree on our property. Which means you do not have the right to do anything to our tree unless you have written approval from the owner of the house. However, the owner of the house is currently sitting on Gallifrey Landing fending off uninformed peoples trying to cut it down."

Hurt's eyes had narrowed so much that they were barely slits. "Very well." he grumbled.

He walked out to the crew, huge leather overcoat flapping behind him. "You can go home! I was mistaken!"

"We ought to tell the others." Clara said.

"You're right. Allons–y!"

"Geronimo!"

They took off running, and Clara heard Hurt behind them. "Oh, for God's sake!" he yelled at the bemused tree removal squad. Then, to her and the two Smiths flanking her– "Gallifrey stands!"

* * *

"And then he said, 'Well, I can't reverse the polarity of the neutron flow,' and I said, "Well, what use is that laser spanner then?" and he said–"

"It's a sonic screwdriver!" David practically shouted. Rose grinned and leaned back so that her head was on his shoulder.

"D'you want to tell the story?"

"Oh, but you tell it so much better!" He gave her a quick peck on the lips and Donna groaned.

"Are you two always kissing? John, are those two always kissing?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Clara had never actually heard of Donna before, but she definitely counted as one of the nice people in Neptune Creek. It was nearly nine o'clock at night, and yet the celebratory Gallifrey Falls No More picnic was still happening, albeit by lanternlight instead of sunlight.

Donna rolled her eyes as the Golden Couple kissed again. "Do they ever stop?" She stage–whispered to Chris, who shook his head and turned up the AM radio to mask the sounds of kissing. They started talking about some other part of the story Rose had missed. Clara wrinkled her nose. "You know, I don't think it requires that much tongue." Clara called out, high–fiving Donna, who sat next to her.

"Are you going to come up for air anytime soon?" John asked. No response. "Okay then.."

"Pity." Clara mused. "I kind of wanted to hear the end of that story." Rose had been talking about one of her first Doctor Days, before she and David began dating.

John scoffed. "It's a Stormwolf story told by Stormwolf themselves. It ends in kissing either way."

The odd kissing sound stopped. "We're done now." Rose said.

Clara laughed a bit. "I thought you'd be gasping for oxygen!"

"They've practiced." John whispered to her, and suddenly she squealed and started humming.

"What?"

"I love this song!"

"Really?"

She nodded.

"Sky Sailing's Brielle, right?"

"You know Sky Sailing?"

"A friend showed me the video for it a while back. You know, with the paper airplanes." He made funny little hand gestures when he said 'paper airplanes', ans she tried not to giggle.

"The art in that was beautiful, wasn't it?"

"Absolutely. So, Impossible Girl–" he pulled her to her feet– "May I have this dance?"

"Of course."

They began dancing. "Impossible Girl?"

"You're impossible, remember?"

He saw Clara's smile, even in the dim light. "Why, yes I am."

And suddenly they were both singing, and with the lantern light and the barely there sunshine through the trees, Clara felt like she really was dancing on Gallifrey. Like she was really seeing it, even burnt and war–ravaged but still beautiful. Still there, visible in an instant of time.

She could still see it behind her eyelids when she got home inside her bed, and the music of the spheres sang her to sleep.


	5. Nearly Day Four: Make-Believe

**A/N So, I don't like this chapter as much. But I've got to keep it in because it contains a few major plot points and I've no other way to write them in. DISCLAIMER: I don't own. Review please? It only takes a few seconds down there at the bottom…. ****:) :) :)****The next chapter will be up soon. It'll keep going off this one.**

Nearly Day Four: Make-Believe

Clara didn't see him again, not for three days, and–to her continued surprise– life went on. She went to work, took Oswin to her theater stuff (and endured the subsequent teasing about her maybe relationship with Oswin's teacher). She even went to the coffee shop and talked to Rose a few times. It was nice, in a way, no weirdness, no crazy antics– but no Doctor, either. And the Doctor was definitely worth the trouble. And on the third day, she decided to visit her mum.

Neptune Creek had been her mother's home for well over two years, and the sleepy little town had its reasons for keeping her the main one being Trenzalore, one of the top hospitals in the world. Her mother's condition had begun to deteriorate; she tried to hide it, but Clara and the doctors knew she was getting weaker every day.

Clara pulled into the parking lot and began searching her bag for her phone.

"Hello? Yes, this is Clara Oswald, Ellie Ravenwood's daughter. Would you happen to know where she is?"

Clara already had an idea of the answer, but it was nice to hear someone else confirm it. She pushed open the door to the garden/courtyard area. She began smiling as her mum appeared. "Clara!"

"Mum." she ran to hug her mother, who embraced her warmly, book in one hand. Clara held on tight for a full minute, inhaling the sweet jasmine scent of her mother's hair, then let go. "What book?"

She already knew the answer. It was one of the few books that her mother read lately– 101 Places to See. According to old family legend, Mum had bought the book while she was still with Clara and Oswin's father, who promised to take her on an adventure, living a life abroad. Instead, he left her with two children, a bad job and a world–weary pea green book.

Clara's mother smiled and held up the book for her to see. "This old thing again. Come inside, I'll call up some tea."

"Where's Alice?"

Alice was her mother's caretaker, a pretty girl with a good amount of experience and exceptionally blue hair. Clara's mother turned to the table on the side, setting her book down, and waved a hand. "Off for the day. I told her I could take care of myself, I did. and see! Not dead yet, so I must be doing something right. How's Oswin doing?"

"Oswin's doing more stuff with the youth theater– you know, community and school. All we get out there in bloody Neptune Creek."

"But it's a lovely little town, innit?" Ellie turned off the tap and set the kettle on the stove. She clasped her hands. "I remember Neptune Creek. I used to have school friends from out there. Beautiful trees in August."

Clara thought of Gallifrey Landing and Akhaten. "I'll say."

"Have you met any one? New friends?"

She smiled. "Yeah...there's Rose. Rose Tyler. And about a week and a half ago she introduced me to John, and...well. it's been a bit of a rollercoaster since."

"Got a gentleman friend then...John. Hm. Last name?"

"Smith. John Smith."

Clara's mum nodded appraisingly. "Good name. What's so special about John Smith? He into all that comicy stuff you are?"

Sipping again, Clara made a face. "Kind of. See, he and his brothers, they do this thing. A sort of game they all play."

And with that, she explained the whole Doctor system to her mother. When she was done, her mother tapped her fingers thoughtfully and looked at Clara over the top of her glasses.

"It sounds like you really like this..this Doctor."

Clara said nothing, smiling a bit to herself.

"But what of the boy who brings him to life?"

* * *

On the fourth day she'd been away from the Smiths, she was a bit surprised to see a package on her door.

She opened it, and a card fell out.

_A bit of family history, if you'd like to look.  
_  
Clara scanned the front and back, but there was no signature. She looked at the actual thing she was holding– a DVD case. The front read DOCTOR WHO in bold letters, but the rest was blank.

She sat at her laptop and slid the disc in. A menu bar popped up, displaying four files; Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh, and Twelfth. She clicked Tenth first, and a plethora of videos appeared, labeled with the year and a title. The first dozen or so had Rose alongside him, but then it changed. Rose was replaced by a dark haired woman who was looking at David longingly, but he paid no attention– oh, what an idiot, Clara thought, she's in love with you!– and then she was replaced by Donna, who looked brash and funny and irate all at once.

Clara hit play in the first 'episode' with Rose in it, titled '2005-New Earth'

"Hello there!" David smiled at the camera and Clara laughed. In this video, both he and Rose barely looked nine years old, and somehow she could imagine them even younger than that, running around making TARDIS sounds. "I'm the Doctor and this is my...erm..."

"Girlfriend."

"My girlfriend Rose Tyler." David smiled hugely. "We are here today in...Rose, where are we?"

"New Earth," Rose said, her voice high and tinny, "at the New New York hospital. With nurses that are cats." She enunciated the last word, and David glanced back at her disparagingly.

"Now don't be rude, Rose. Think about how you look to them all...pink and yellow. Anyways. So we were on New Earth today and guess who else was?"

"Lady Cassandra." Rose nearly shouted. David maintained his gaze with the camera.

"Precisely! Lady Cassandra, the self–proclaimed Last Human. Except she's not."

David continued rambling with Rose cutting in at points to add things he'd missed. John was right– they worked perfectly together, those two. Storytellers extraordinaire, even when they were little. She was amazed at the quality of the New Earth storyline– a recurring character returns with plans for vengeance in a new setting. They were wonderful.

When the video ended, Clara returned to the home screen and scrolled through the videos until she got to John's. Several of them featured a woman with a smug smile and curly blonde hair; one of them was the one she and John had done the other day, Nightmare in Silver; and many, many of them displayed a familiar looking woman with long red hair. Amelia Pond.

She browsed through the titles with Amy. Some seemed somber– The Girl who Waited, Amy's Choice, Cold Blood– while others were a bit livelier– Let's Kill Hitler, the Big Bang, the Wedding of River Song– oh, that one was promising, both the curly–haired woman and Amy were in it. She clicked play.

"Hallllloooooooo peoples!" John spun around on his spinny chair, a huge goofy smile lighting up his face. "Today I have with me the incomparable Amelia Pond–"

"Amy." Amy corrected.

John spun to look at her. "Well, I'm calling you Amelia because it sounds...I don't know..." he flapped his arms for emphasis– "a bit fairytale." He clapped his hands and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Doctor. Remind me why I keep you around?"

"Because…I don't know. Shush. And I have also been joined by Melody Pond, AKA Doctor River Song, to tell you of this fantastic tale! Today, the 22th of April, 2011, 5:02 pm, we are here to discuss how Amelia came to possess an eyedrive, why Winston Churchill is actually a Holy Roman Emperor, and how I came to be kind–of–sort–of–semi–not–really–married to our dear Missus Song. I am the Doctor and this–" he leaned in to the camera for extra effect– "is the day that time ran out."

She paused it, John's face huge on the screen. This is what Peter was talking about. John missed her. She could see how they sparked off each other, the firework way they interacted. It wasn't a romantic chemistry, she thought, but one of two singers who knew the duet by heart.

Clara closed the window. She slumped backwards into her chair.

_Ask Rose about Amelia Pond. And when you do, I won't judge you if you don't come back._

But she had to come back. She had to. John, the Smiths, the Doctor, even Gallifrey Landing and Akhaten were the best things that happened to her in her whole time at Neptune Creek. Without them...it was the same pattern. Over and over again. She needed adventure. She needed life.

She wondered if the others had felt somewhat like this– Amy, and Donna, and Rose. She wondered if the Doctor was their escape too.

Clara glanced back at the screen. The blonde woman in the back was still smirking. River Song, they said– no. Melody Pond. But John had never mentioned a Melody Pond.

_Johnny likes his secrets_, Chris whispered in her head.

"No." she muttered. "Quiet."

Five minutes later, Rose picked up the phone. "Hey, Clars. What's up?"

"Can you tell me anything about Melody Pond?"

Rose was silent for a moment. Clara checked the phone to make sure she hadn't hung up.

"Why do you want to know about Melody?" Rose asked slowly.

"Because I need to ask her some stuff."

"Stuff like..." prompted Rose, but Clara wouldn't say.

"Rose, I just need to talk to her."

"Why do you need to talk to her?"

Clara made an exasperated noise. "I need to ask her about John. I'm a bit worried..there was something Peter mentioned and it's just nagging at me…"

Rose sighed. There was silence, and then; "Get a piece of paper."

* * *

And that is how Clara ended up standing in front of Melody Pond's house twenty minutes and a lot of inner debating later.

She knocked hesitantly on the door. Almost instantly, a woman about thirtyish opened it, her curly blonde hair bouncing behind her. A wave of jealousy flooded over Clara- she had always wanted curly hair.  
"Can I help you?" the woman asked curtly.

"Hi. My name is Clara Oswald."

"I'm not buying anything, thanks." Melody tried to shut the door, but Clara stopped it with her foot.

"Please, I just need to ask you some…stuff."

The woman- Melody- laughed. "Stuff?" she said jokingly. "You're going to have to be much more specific than-"

"You knew John Smith before Amy died." Clara interrupted, and Melody's smile faded. "And I'm a bit worried for him, so I need to ask you some questions."

The woman was quiet for a few seconds. And then- "Are you one of those reporters? Because I thought that lot stopped after what I did to the last one." Her voice had taken on a hint of menace.

"I'm not a reporter. My name's Clara Oswald, I'm a friend of John's, and I just need to ask you some stuff about Amelia, because literally nobody has answered my questions."

Melody stepped aside and let Clara in to the house, turning to shut the door behind her. "What has he told you about Amelia?" Melody asked, her back to Clara.

"He's hardly told me anything, but Peter told me to look her up and make sure I figured something out about John."

"And you think one of his old friends can tell you what it is?" Melody snapped, facing Clara at last. Clara swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

"No," she said carefully. "I thought one of his old friends could compare notes with me. See what changed. And maybe shed some light on the death, which nobody has really clarified."

Melody continued looking at Clara impassively, and she began to feel a bit uneasy about the whole thing. "On second thought, maybe this was a bad idea. I should go.." Clara began to turn to the door, but then- finally- Melody spoke.

"You're right. This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. But will you follow it through?"

She began towards the hall, calling over her shoulder, "Amy's room is this way."

Melody shoved open the door to Amelia's room. Clara walked in and was surprised to find it mostly bare and covered in a thin layer of dust.

"I've not touched anything in here since the accident." Melody said. "Thought it would be a bit rude."

Clara was mesmerized by the desk, however, and what was on it- sketches. Hundreds of sketches. Some of Melody, some of John, and a few if the weird pepper shaker things she saw. But the majority of the sketches were of someone she'd never seen before.

She picked up one of the pictures. "Who's he?"

"Rory Williams." Melody said, her voice catching a bit. "Amy's boyfriend."

"Nobody ever mentioned a boyfriend. The reports-"

"The Smiths aren't the only ones with an imaginary friend."

"Rory..wasn't real?"

Melody sat on the bed, allowing a cloud of dust to billow up around her. "Imagine this. A little girl and her sister move to town unexpectedly. The little girl doesn't talk to people because she is scared they will not accept that she's hanging onto something that's not really there. They all grow apart from her."

"She didn't have friends?"

"She had me, and the ones in her head, which couldn't ever really suffice." Melody sighed. "Amy hardly ever talked to anyone…and then she met John. And I bet you're thinking, 'why would she talk to him and not the others?'"

Clara nodded, setting down the sketch.

"Because they were the same." Melody closed her eyes. "I don't know how he is now. But back then, he was always happy, and he had a lovely smile that he hardly ever used. He wouldn't talk for days, after it happened. Just sat in his room. I still don't know what he was doing in there."

"But how did it actually happen? How did she die?"

Something changed in Melody's features, and the implacable look was back. She moved toward the door and Clara realized she'd crossed a line. "I think you ought to go."

"But-"

"I really think you ought to go."

Clara left, sparing a glance behind her to see Melody slam the door.


	6. Day 4: Butterflies and The Last Day

A/N Last chapter with River in it! Also, The Last Day in this one has nothing to do with the minisode The Last Day, with the fall of Arcadia. Thanks to GriffinGirl for the review! DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN.

Day 4: Butterflies and The Last Day

"JOHN SMITH." Clara shouted into the phone. She could practically hear John wincing on the other end.

"CLARA OSWALD." he boomed back.

"I am in need of your assistance, sir, for these be dire times indeed."

He played along. "What be the matter, fair lady?"

"I cannot seem to locate the nets of inter."

"Come again?"

"The internet." Clara jabbed a bit more at her keyboard. "I cannot find the internet. Where's it gone? I'm at home, so isn't it just supposed to...be there?"

"It's seven AM!" He said, exasperated.

"And I need the internet!" She shot back. "Tell me how I get it beck up again. Come on."

He sighed. "Okay. Click the wifi button. See any names you recognize?"

"oswald–for–the–win, yeah."

"Click on it."

"I tried, but it kicked me out." She sighed in irritation. "Chin boy, what's wrong with my computer?"

"Aren't you a coder? Figure it out!"

"Training for it, and I'm basically awful, and I. Need. Internet. Chin."

"Have you tried turning it off and turning it a

back on again?"

"Regular IT boy, you are."

"Very funny."

"Has Apple called yet to offer you a job?"

He huffed. "Bring it over here, I'll see what I can do with it."

Clara shut her laptop. "Okay, Chin Boy. I'll be right there."

She paused before hanging up– "Why are you up so early?"

"Because...because reasons. See you in a few," he said, and then hung up on her.

Everything in Neptune Creek was close together, so it only took Clara twenty minutes to reach John's house– at least, now that she knew where to go. She opened the door softly– it was, after all, still seven AM. She didn't know how many other Smiths were up and about at that time of morning.

She heard a sort of murmuring coming from John's bedroom, and for some reason, her heart froze. "John?" Clara called quietly. "Chin boy, you here?"

The noise stopped. "Come on in, Clars." he shouted.

Still carrying her laptop, Clara peered into his room. "Oi, Chin, seriously."

"Oi, Nose, seriously, I'm in here."

"Why do you sound like you're in the closet?"

John poked his head out from between shirts in the closet. "Maybe I am in the closet."

"You're not in the closet."

He poked his head out again. "You're right. That's rubbish. I can't be in the closet."

"Get out of the closet."

John stuck his head out. "You could come into the closet. It's all nice and cozy."

"Chin, did you just invite me into your closet?"

"Why shouldn't I? It's a perfectly nice closet."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"I don't know...it could be a snog closet."

"What, the sweet little fangirl is too good to go into the Doctor's closet?" he called jauntily. Clara frowned– she sounded far away. But he was just in the closet... right?

"That's just what everyone says. Sweet little Clara, draws fanart for fun. Well, I'm not just some crazed fangirl, and I'm certaintly not sweeter on the insid–"

She had barged into the closet, past the shirts and hangers, and just stopped. "But...but..."

The room inside was huge, almost the same size as John's itself. Circular blue lights lined the silver walls, and the center of the room was dominated by a hexagonal desk with a central pillar stretching to the ceiling. A tablet was set on a spinning circle around the pillar.

"Go on, say it." John said. "Most people do."

"It's smaller on the outside." she breathed.

The Doctor looked a bit troubled, but smiled anyway. "Okay...that one's new..."

* * *

"Is this the TARDIS?"

"Yup." He clicked something on the tablet then sent it to her, circular symbols flashing before her eyes. She caught it, but the symbols continued spinning, so she ignored them.

"You built a replica of your spaceship in a spare room."

"Yup." He slid her laptop our from under her arm and began clicking on things and typing furiously. "Password?"

"Ravenwood, second O is a zero. And what's this door for?"

She started toward the door on the other end of the room, the only part of the room not painted silver. John looked up from Clara's Samsung and slid inbetween her and the door. "Ah, no. That's Peter's room. Technically, this is his TARDIS too. Chris and David have their own, down the hall. Personally–' he went back to typing– "I think theirs is a bit grunge, but you can go in and decide for yourself."

"Lights in here are a bit dim, aren't they?"

THe Doctor smiled, face lit by Clara's computer screen. "Yeah. I like it. Kind of Star Trek, don't you think?"

"Shut up, Chin." Clara murmured, running her hands along one of the circular blue lights.

She turned her attention to the console, which John was currently leaning against. There was a sloping part covered in buttons and levers, and then there was a silver desk that jutted out and was unsurprisingly, knowing John, also covered in buttons and the like– but there were more papers that levers and pencils were a dime a dozen.

"I can see you eyeing my pencils," John said, not looking up from the screen, "and you should know that I have the exact number written on my laptop at all times, so do not try and steal any."

"Why would I want your pencils?"

John shrugged, hands flying across the keyboard. "Some of them are nice pencils. Nearly done, by the way."

"Already?"

"Yeah. It wasn't that bad. Just the beginning of a Bad Wolf virus– come on, Impossible Girl, you of all people should know to watch out for things in the wifi. Coder, indeed; that firewall was about as tough as Play–Doh."

"Just because I haven't gotten around to installing the update doesn't mean that I'm a lousy coder." Clara shot back, only she really was a lousy coder, and John wasn't listening anymore.

"And...we're...CLEAR!" He set it down on the silver desk and whooped. "Now it just needs a bit of time to re–boot everything!"

Clara looked at him, confused. "How is that good?"

"Well, it's better than not having wifi, isn't it?"

"To be honest, no."

He glared at her. "Quiet. I just did something awesome, and brilliant, and if you're not standing around being impressed then what's the point of it all?" John bounded around the side of the console to face her. "Let's go on an adventure!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know...it's an adventure! You're not meant to know where you're going, you're just meant to– you know...do it!" John flapped his arms about excitedly. "Adventure!"

"But shouldn't an adventure be–" Clara tried, but John grabbed her arm and shoved open the door.

"Adventure. Now. You're coming."

Clara allowed herself to be pulled along through the hall, through the kitchen, and out into the foggy seven twenty of Neptune Creek's August.

John finally let go of her arm and she rubbed it where his death–grip had taken hold. "You already know that's where Hurty lives– next to him's Mrs. Hudson, she's such a sweet woman. We ought to go visit sometime, haven't seen her since..." his rapidfire speech faltered, and he stopped, making Clara halt as well.

"Um. Anyways."

They began walking again, but John was going a bit faster this time. Clara struggled to keep up, and (not for the first time) she resented her height.

"No. Since what? You've talked about what happened years ago, you've talked about the present, but you haven't said a thing about recent history."

She heard him sigh. "Clara, I know that you know about Amy."

Clara stiffened a little. She couldn't find any words but... "Oh."

"It's okay, I knew you'd have to find out eventually." He was staring straight ahead.

"How did you know?"

"Your computer. You left all your tabs open when you gave it to me, and I saw the one about last September." Clara mentally kicked herself. "Also, Melody Pond called yesterday."

Clara groaned and felt her face flood with embarassment. "Oh my stars I am so sorry, I had no clue she would call you."

"It's okay, it's perfectly fine." His hand found hers and her heart stipopped working for a second, then resumed.

"She, erm...she didn't tell you why I was there in the first place, did she?"

"No, I was actually hoping you'd tell me that."

"Sorry, but I won't."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She felt her hand getting a bit sweaty. "Why not?"

"Because. Nobody has answered any of the questions I've got about this whole mess, so I'd prefer not to answer that one."

They turned left, and Clara realized that they were in the park that they had cut through on the first day of all this, the day they walked from the coffee shop. He sat down under a tree, and motioned for her to so the same. "All right then, Clara Oswald." John said, with a trace of a smile that looked a bit more like a grimace, "Shoot."

"How did Amy die? Where did her boyfriend– Rory, right? Come into everything? Also, who the hell is River Song? Her character just sort of popped up out of nowhere and...you're laughing at me. Why are you laughing at me?"

"How do you even know about River? I mean, it's not that surprising, because you met Melody, but still."

"I saw a few of the videos..."

"And?"

Clara took a deep breath. "Amy. You liked her."

"Very much." He clarified. "And with her..." John ran a hand through his hair, messing up the flopppy bit in the front. "There was no way that I couldn't like her. That's how you first saw River?"

"What was it about her? Amy, I mean."

"Why do you want to know so much about my dead ex–girlfriend?" John said bluntly. Clara noticed the slight quiver in his voice as he said it, and shrugged. "I'm curious."

"About what?"

"Cause to effect. Keep going."

John frowned a bit, but continued. "The first day we talked, it was at the bookstore, and that's always a plus, when a girl's into reading." Clara smiled internally. "So, we just kind of bumped into each other– and you saw her. She was radiant. And...she was so surprised, when I actually talked to her. Confused, more like. And then she asked me if i had a best friend, and I said I can't tell you, you'll laugh, and that's how I told her about the Doctor and she told me about Rory. That's how I first met her– she was the first companion that the Doctor I played ever had."

"Really?"

The Doctor nodded. "That was three years ago, when we first met. Now, tell me why you went to pay a visit to the resident psychopath of Neptune Creek."

"She didn't seem like a psychopath," Clara admonished. "And I went because I needed to ask her something. About fear."

"Fear of what?"

"Your proverbial tomorrow, and what will follow." Clara slumped backwards until she was laying on ber back, staring at the backs of the leaves. She watched a ladybug crawl up a piece of grass by her face. "I can't stand it here sometimes." she muttered.

John had moved into the same position a few feet away, and she knew he was listening. "Just the heat, and the slowness, and–"

"The way the whole place seems to be moving twenty seconds slower than usual time." John interrupted. The ladybug buzzed off.

"Exactly."

"Why did you come here? You never said. Just told everyone that you moved here in July, but..why?" he asked.

"Trenzalore. My mom...she's getting worse by the day."

"She couldn't come alone?"

"She did, at first. She's been there for two and a half years. But they're not sure when I might have to come in, and I wanted to be a bit closer to her that where Os and I were before."

There was silence, and Clara watched a cloud drift by in the grayish–blueness of seven forty. Then– "Oh my god." John whispered. "Looklooklook Clara come see.."

Clara sat up and turned to face John, who was staring at the butterfly that had landed on his nose. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the giggles.

The little yellow butterfly jumped a little, fluttered its wings, and began walking on the bridge of John's nose.

"I'm surprised it didn't land on your chin– bigger landing pad." Clara said matter–of–factly, then almost collapsed in laughter at the glare she recieved.

The butterfly flew off, and John watched it go up with a slight, innocent smile on his face. Clara glanced at the butterfly, but was a but more concerned with watching him.

She looked away as he checked his watch. "Eight o'clock. Got anywhere to be today?"

"Yes, actually. I've got to get home and take Oswin to the summer class that you're teaching."

"Oh. Right." In an instant he was standing, arm extended to help her up. "Shall we go check on your laptop, my fair lady?"

"That sounds wonderful, my prince."

He laughed as they skipped off. "Prince? I am insulted! Knight in shining armor, if you please." John struck a ridiculous pose, and Clara laughed.

* * *

She was at home later that day, enjoying the perks of Internetdom when her doorbell rang. She waited to see if Oswin would come to get it. She didn't and the ringer of the doorbell gave the button two more good hard pushed. Finally, Clara stood and walked to the front door, opening it."

It was Melody. She had a few pieces of paper in her hand, which she held out to Clara. "I found these." she said thickly. "Make of them what you will."

"But...why?"

"Because I called him yesterday, and I heard it, too. There's something missing, and I want to help you find it." She pulled something else out of her pocket– a DVD– and put it on top of the sheaf of papers. "Before it's too late."

She took one step and met Clara's gaze eye to eye. Then, she did something unexpected. "Thank you." she said in a much gentler voice. "And I am sorry. I truly am. But I can't help anymore."

And with that, Melody abruptly turned and walked out of Clara Oswald's life.

* * *

The papers were all rough drafts of scripts, Clara had noticed, but rough drafts with comments. There were notes in both John's untidy scrawl and Amy's incredibly neat lettering. She had read through them all; laughed at Amy's snark and the Doctor's witty replies. What she was worried about was the DVD.

There were a few scratched out words on it in black sharpie– of the ones she could read, one resembled 'Death', one resembled an expletive and one resembled 'pond', but the only title not scratched was 'The Last Day.'

'The Last Day' of what? But she could guess.

And finally, with a growing sense of unease, Clara slid the DVD into her computer and pressed play.


	7. Day 4, cont'd: Violet Shadows

**A/N Hi! Thanks to Guest for the review. Sorry I haven't updated in a while, been having some school issues- mainly that I'm not sure where I'm going next year :/. This one's a double, second part will come later. Read and review please!**

**Day Four, cont'd: Violet Shadows**

A bit of static cleared through the speakers.

"Hi! We're here on Gallifrey, and I'm starting us all off tonight, aren't I, Doctor?"

On the screen, Amy dropped the camera to where John was. Clara's stomach twisted up. Do not let me be right please oh god do not do NOT let me be right.

"John, wake up." He didn't stir. "John. JOHN." She flicked his forehead and his pale green eyes fluttered open.

"Amy, how are you not asleep?"

"Are the stars sleeping?"

"No..."

"So neither am I. Come on, Doctor, Time Lords are not supposed to sleep as much as you do. It's bad for their...er.. complexion."

Amy swung the camera back to her face and mouthed 'I don't know' and then smiled. John was right. She was radiant.

Clara looked around the edges of the video. There was the Landing, three sleeping bags- one containing Peter, one that John was curled on top of, and the edge of one that Amy was sitting on. There was a fourth off to the side, but the occupant wasn't in view– she'd guess Melody.

"Come on, John," Amy urged, flicking him again. "Let's go do something."

John muttered something that neither Amy nor Clara could hear. "What?"

"Was that an innuendo?" John said louder.

"Uh, no. I have a boyfriend."

"The Doctor says 'Bollocks to that.'"

"In fact, I have a fiancee. "

"Better tell your boyfriend. He'll be upset."

"Shut up." She playfully pushed his shoulder. "Oh, look! Rory's over there, on Akhaten. Hello! See, he's waving back. Rory?"

The camera lurched suddenly as Amy stood. There was a bit of rustling behind her. "Amy," John said, "You are not climbing Akhaten at one AM."

"Why not?"

"I'll give you three good reasons. One- it's right over Essex Creek. Two- I'm pretty sure you're half asleep and certain you had too much to drink. Three- AMELIA. GET BACK HERE."

"You can't make me. "

The camera swayed sickeningly from side to side, and John's voice grew fainter as Amelia went farther. "Amy!" he yelled.

"Yup, that's my name," Amy mumbled. "Gold star." the camera dropped a bit. "Whoops." she muttered.

"Amy, please, come back. Those branches aren't safe."

"I climbed this yesterday, John. Rory says to stop worrying."

"AMY." it was a plea now, and the camera stopped. Presumably Amelia looked back.

"Oh." Amy's voice was barely a whisper. "Shit."

"Amy?" There was a rustle to the right, and John's voice got louder. "Did you say something?"

"My ring." Amelia murmured. "My...mother's ring."

"Listen, we can go get it back. Just get off Akhaten."

There was a pause, followed by Amy's profuse swearing. A loud groan erupted from the speakers, which Clara hastily covered so she wouldn't wake up Oswin.

"Amy." John's voice was very quiet. "Come back over. It's just a few more steps."

"But the ring. I can reach it. I can still see it."

"We can get it back, Amy, just–"

But the camera had already started to move back towards the outskirts of Akhaten. John began to shout behind her. "AMY. STOP." She kept going.

The tree continued to protest, creaking and groaning like a old haunted floor. Amy suddenly shrieked, and Clara winced. "It fell! Oh, gods, it fell, John, JOHN, what do I do what do I DO?!"

He was too far away for Amy or Clara to hear the reply. Clara felt sick.

The Last Day.

"John, I'm coming back."

"Finally." he said, exasperated. The tree even seemed to approve, creaking a bit less as she stumbled over. The camera had completely fallen to Amy's side at this point, and Clara relied only on audio.

Suddenly, Amelia stopped. The camera halted, and the only sound was the groaning of the tree. Which, Clara noted, was rather loud...

"John...it's supposed to make that noise, right?" Amy took another step. "Please tell me that it's supposed to do this."

John was silent. All Clara could hear were Amy's ragged breaths.

"I'm right above the creek." she whispered, a little but in awe. "Look, there's that old angel statue we used to play with."

The tree grew louder, and Clara heard a scuffling and then a thud. "Amy? Where are you? We'll bring the ladder over." John called out.

"Weeping Angels, the silent predators...but it was only a game." The branch shuddered. "I don't think.." there was another creaking. "Doctor, I can't...oh hell."

Amy began sobbing. "I'm sorry oh god I am sorry okay John I really am."

"Amy?" John's voice finally broke a bit.

"I'm not going to make it across oh god I should have listened it was all a game for gods sakes it. was. all. a. GAME."

"Amy, you can do it, Peter and I am here to catch you-"

Clara looked back at the monitor. The camera was pointing straight down, immediately below Amelia, but all she could see was the darkness and slight movement from the creek beneath. No John in sight.

The news reports said that she'd jumped in after a thing that fell in. Shoddy cover story, Peter, Clara thought. I could have worked out something better. But everyone there that night knew that if the Last Day was given to the authorities, it would break John more than he could take. He couldn't bear the weight of her death and the heavy accusations. John could not be the boy who should have spoke louder.

The creaking noises continued, but Clara could not take it any longer. She paused the video and slumped back in her chair. She moved her hand away from her mouth- she had subconsciously begun biting her nails. Sighing, she turned off the computer and the lights, slowly moving down the hall, past Oswin's room and into her own.

But she didn't sleep that night. How could she? Clara tossed and turned until three, when her brain finally gave up. So at four oh six, she didn't notice the note that was slid under her door. She didn't notice the vaguely violet shadow that paused outside her window before departing into a cold August dawn. She didn't notice anything at all.


	8. The Third Last Day

**A/N Hello! It's a double! Thanks to badwolf452 for reviewing. This one starts the downward trend that shall finish on the 23****rd****. Also, I'm sure you've figured it out at this point, but each Day is actually a day that John and Clara talk/communicate. This really doesn't count as a Day, so the next chapter will be Day Five. Disclaimer: I don't own DW. Read and review?**

**The Third Last Day**

At around seven, Clara awoke from the sleep of the dead. She slammed her hand on the window while she yawned- had it been that far open last night? Hm.

She padded into the kitchen and began to fiddle with the coffeemaker. Oswin was definitely still asleep; this was usually her job in the morning, and Clara was finding herself ridiculously inept at operating it. She swore as it began loudly beeping and flashing red lights. Locating the speaker, she cupped her hand over it, muffling the noise. She glanced around the kitchen until her gaze landed on large pile of kitchen towels she had washed the day before.

Eleven minutes later, Clara was sipping a cup of green tea, looking at the towel-wrapped coffeemaker (still pulsing a faint pink) with a mixture of relief and pride. It was then that she saw the lavender envelope at the door.

Clara approached it slowly, almost as if it were toxic. The Doctor's familiar scrawl, an echo of the scripts from the night before, spelled out her address and name. Relaxing a bit, she opened it.

for Clara

somewhere a bit unexpected. don't worry, Clars. I'll be okay.

hard to say.

yes, it's all fine.

doubly so.

no you don't.

I just do, okay? I'm good at reading into people. and trust me, you don't. nobody does.

yes it is.

look, I just have to, okay? and believe me, I'm sorry, but it's just something I've got to do. better than the alternative.

you guessed it.

well, aren't you my clever impossible girl.

Clara frowned in confusion at the page. Something at the bottom had been repeatedly whited out, splodges of the paint-like stuff splattered around the edge of the page. Clara held it up to the light, but to no avail; he had done the other side as well.

"Damn your smartness." She murmured into her tea, scanning the letter again. It still made no sense at all, and she was beginning to get just a little frustrated.

Clara checked the clock. He'd probably be up by now, knowing him; why didn't she just call and ask him herself?

"Hello?" Peter had responded…to John's cell. Something was wrong. "Clara. Is that you?"

"Yeah. What happened?"

"Did you get a letter?" There was a tone of urgency in his voice as Clara glanced down at the vaguely familiar lilac paper in her hands.

"Yup. Did you?"

"Yes, I did. What was the number on your letter?"

"Erm…" She looked at the letter again. A small three had been penciled in to the top left corner of the envelope, where she had missed it before. "Three. Why?"

"What does yours say?"

Clara relayed the sentences to Peter. "Make any sense to you?"

There was a sigh. "Not at all. Mine's the same way."

"Okay…did anyone actually ask John what was going on? He gave us the letters, he ought to know."

"Of course not, Oswald. We've locked him in the closet and are refusing to let him out until he tells us telepathically." Chris' voice dripped with sarcasm; he'd taken the phone. "He's gone missing."

"WHAT."

"I said-"

"I heard what you said."

"Okay. Good. Any idea where he is?"

"Not a clue." She clenched the handle on her mug a bit tighter. "This is bad."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Clara cocked her head to one side. "To be honest, I always thought of myself as Irene, not Sherlock, because she was equally smart and manipulative and I'm rambling, aren't I."

"Just a bit, yeah." And then Chris hung up.

She set down her phone and stared at the front door.

Where could you be, Doctor?

By midday, Clara had a list of about twenty locations he could be at, and she had driven out to four of them to no avail. He hid well when he didn't want to be found. Then again, she supposed anyone would, if they simply wanted to be alone for a while.

Earlier, she had driven to the Smith's house and compared notes. Peter had a two, David had a four and Chris had a five, but the letters were all the same- random, out of context sentences that made no sense when put together, mashed into a conglomerate, taken apart, or read backwards. At around ten, she'd taken Oswin to her class. At ten twenty, Oswin had texted her that there was a sub there instead of Mr. Smith. Clara called the director of the program, who said that John had gone to visit his mother, Sarah Jane, and why was she even calling anyways this is a private matter at which point Clara hung up.

She kept wondering where he was and why he had left…though she found her mind straying towards I hope he's all right.

Clara shook her head. Fine. If that's how he wanted to be, that was perfectly all right with her. She didn't need to know where he was, much less why he'd gone- that was something for either Peter or Chris or David to deal with. She had her own problems.

…..but he's one of them.

She flopped backward on her bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars and moons she had pasted onto her ceiling. Her gaze landed on a funny little crack near the corner of the wall, then slid towards the window.

It was definitely not opened that far last night. She frowned. Had John opened it when he left the note?

Maybe….possibly…had he left another note?

She practically dove into the space between the bed and the wall, digging her arm around for another lilac clue. When she couldn't feel anything, she moved the mattress farther from the wall- and something dislodged with a thud. Letters weren't that heavy- but she never put anything down there to begin with. Excitedly, she peered down the gap, pushing the top of her head against the wall- as if it would make a difference.

Laying on its side staring up at her with its little blue eyestalk was a pepper shaker.

Clara picked it up, eyebrows furrowing. No. Not a pepper shaker. A….Dalek. That's the word John used for the thing! Dalek.

The Dalek was used to designate the foe for the Doctor Days, John had told her. The person with the TARDIS in their room on the first of the month is the Doctor, and the person with the Dalek-

"Is the enemy." Clara whispered. The message was pretty clear- you are the enemy. But why? Nothing in the note had any tone of hostility, and he'd said nothing the last day she'd seen him- oh. But he still spoke with Melody. She could have told him that Clara had the video. And the day of the Great and Wonderful Adventure, John wasn't exactly pleased that Clara had even gone to Melody for information. He would be even less happy that she knew exactly how his crush had died.

Admittedly, she hadn't been the most open person in their relationship- if you could even call it a relationship- but he hadn't told her anything about Amy. She had to find out about everything on her own. So, therefore, everything she had done had been perfectly justified and there was no reason to call her the enemy. Clara sat down on the bed and set the Dalek a good distance away from her.

Except….Peter.

Peter was the one who first planted the seed. _Look up Amelia Pond. _But Peter had just been trying to help her understand what she was getting into. If she had been a good person, she would have stopped asking.

If she had been a good person, would she have come back?

Always. She would always come back. She promised herself that.

But was it the right thing to do?

Was she really the enemy? Was she the reason he ran? No. NO. She was not his enemy, she was his friend. She was his companion. She couldn't be the rival. A wave of anger swept over Clara. She kicked the Dalek and it slammed into her closet.

"I am not the enemy." She growled. "I. AM. NOT. THE. DALEK."

Clara pulled her jacket from the end of the bed and tugged it over her shoulders. "I AM NOT A DALEK." She picked up the bright yellow thing and looked at it with sheer loathing before

down the hall and opened the door, fully intent on driving to the Smith's house and screaming for a good while- indeed, she would have if David was not staring out at her from her doorway. "Clara? Going somewhere?"

"Uh, yeah. But you're supposed to be there, not here."

David smiled. He had a nice smile, Clara thought, but a. He had a girlfriend and b. John's smile was much nicer.

"Well, come on then. Peter sent me to summon you for the Quest for Location of the Eleventh Doctor."

"Lot harder than it sounds." Clara observed. David puffed out his cheeks and blew the air through his teeth.

"I'll say. Coming or not, Oswald?"

She winced and shook her head. "Never call me that again and I'll drive."

"Sounds absolutely wonderful."

"To be honest, it looks like a conversation with a invisible person." Peter flipped his note over in his fingers, rolling it into a tube and then back out again.

"A one sided conversation." Clara confirmed.

"But who's the other side?" David asked.

Chris shrugged. His note was already folded in about a million places. "Us?"

"How can we be on the other side of a conversation that we've never had?" David asked, while subconsciously folding a paper hat. Clara watched his fingers fly, twisting the page in a hundred ways.

"Did Rose get a note?" She asked. David shrugged.

"Probably. She's out of town this week, so I don't actually know."

"Nobody got a one, did they?" Chris asked. They all checked their numbers.

"No, I'm four." David said.

"Two." Peter replied

"Three." Clara folded the edge of hers.

"Five." Chris muttered.

"So, no." Peter said. "That means that Rose could potentially be the one-"

"But not for him." David finished. "Rose is my one."

"Aw, cute."

"Not if you're with them all the time." Peter scoffed to Clara.

David stood. "I can go check her house, see if she got a note."

"Oh, he even has a key to her house! That's adorable." Clara clasped her hands together and made happy noises. Chris rolled his eyes as David left.

"Clara? You were with him the other day. Did he give you any hints?"

Clara fished around in her bag and pulled out the Dalek. Peter looked at it, confused. "He gave you that the other day?"

"No. I found it in my bedroom, this morning, a bit after I woke up. It was probably on the windowsill or something, got knocked over. Has he ever done anything like this before?"

Chris shook his head. "He's never run off. In fact, the only thing he's really ever done was stay in. That was after Amy. Spot of depression."

Peter's face darkened a bit. He turned to Clara. "Can you go scope around where you were last? He could've left something there. Another clue, another letter, something to tell us where he is."

"Someone seems to have taken charge of the situation." Clara noted.

He glared at her. "Well, if I don't, nobody will. And this is my baby brother that's missing, isn't it? Hm?"

Clara said nothing, just fiddled with the plunger on the pepper shaker. "Okay. I'll head over there now." She got up and walked off, heading toward the park in the middle of sleepy little Neptune Creek.

The air was bitter, but in that kind of nice mid-August way; she could taste autumn in the wind. She pulled her jacket a bit tighter around her and continued walking. The park wasn't far, but she did have to pass the town cemetery to get there. When she was with John, it hadn't seemed as….scary as it did now. Desolate, and cold, and gray- and purple?

Clara stopped. There. In the middle of the cemetery, was a spray of purple and white flowers. And a letter.

A letter in a lavender envelope, addressed to Amelia Pond.

After a moment, Clara approached the grave and set her gaze on the corner of the letter.

Amy had the one.

She walked away quickly. That was all she needed to see.


	9. Day 5: The Backwards Interrogation

**A/N Three review in one day?! You guys are awesome. Also, cryptologicalMystic– you guessed it. Kind of like Blink– the conversation that hasn't been had yet. Except not quite. It's a bit you and both guests for the reviews! Here's Day Five– this update is kind of an apology for the last one, because to be honest, it was only like 2,200 words and that's actually the shortest full chapter– not counting the Nearlies. Read and review? Disclaimer: I don't own DW. **

**Day Five: The Backwards Interrogation**

They had been unsuccessful in their efforts; a full day and a half later the merry group of locators was a little less merry, still without their charge. John Smith really, really did not want to be found.

Clara was pretty sure she had gone everywhere he could be– the school, a neighbor's house, Melody's place, the library, the coffee shop, the TARDIS room. Peter had tackled some of the more unlikely places– gas stations, visitor centers, the only hotel for miles, even a long drive outside the perimeter of the town. Chris had begun to sort through John's things, see if he had left any noted, but Clara already knew how thorough he was– her Doctor wouldn't give them assistance. David was asking around for them– questioning passerby if they had seen John. The answer was always no, but Clara had learned that David was persistant.

What did Clara do then? She decided to take a walk. Where? "Anywhere but here." she muttered, and grabbed her house keys.

So she started in the back of her house, by the woods, after she had dropped Oswin off. And she just wandered.

Is this what it's like to run away? Not really having a goal, not really knowing where you're going...just fingers crossed that it's beautiful. And she wasn't dissapointed, because as she walked, her mind cleared, and so did her eyes; so long she was blind to all this. She only saw autumn, not the million pieces of leaf–shaped glass. She only heard the sky, not tited her head back and let it kiss her face.

She only heard 'lonely', and thought alone; she had never considered that not everyone who is alone is lonely.

And then Clara realized two things: One. She didn't want to be found here. She wanted to stay here, at least until August ended. And Two. John was not here.

He would pass through it, as he had so many times before– maybe spare a glance in it's direction but no more or less than that. He was an author; and she reasoned that the beauty would be appreciated but not fondly remembered. If she knew him at all, he'd run to a darker place with a colder heart. He'd want to be somewhere that trees didn't grow.

Clara's phone buzzed in her pocket. "Hallo?"

"It's questions."

"Peter? What are you on about?" She held the phone closer to her ear, distracted from the trees.

"What was the first question you thought of when you found out that he'd run?"

"Where are you. That was my first question, bu...oh. OH."

somewhere a bit unexpected. don't worry, Clars. I'll be fine.

"He answered the questions." Clara whispered. "John Smith thought up all the questions we could ask–"

"And answered them." Peter confirmed.

"That's pretty genius. Except I only had like three questions."

"Do they match up?"

Clara pulled the note from her pocket and read it.

where are you?

somewhere a bit unexpected. don't worry, Clars. I'll be fine.

are you okay?

hard to say.

listen, I need to know that you're all right.

yes, it's all fine.

doubly so.

"Up until the middle of the note it makes sense." Clara said.

"Okay. keep trying to think up questions and seeing if they fit in."

He hung up, and Clara found herself wishing that John was still here, that her Doctor was here with her. She looked back down at the next sentence on the note and a wave of cold ran over her.

no you don't.

–

She had given up an hour later; her next question would be 'How would you know' but after that she couldn't figure it out. There was a loud banging at the door and she got up from the kitchen table.

"CLARA. I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE." the voice was almost as irate as the knocking.

Clara froze. Oswin. She had forgotten to pick Oswin up from camp.

She ran to the door and opened it. "Oswin! Are you okay?"

"You left me there." Oswin said, arms crossed, "You left me there to look for your boyfriend, didn't you."

"Um. Well."

"I know you did. I had to walk home. Alone." Oswin enunciated, sticking her chin a bit farther forward. "Half an hour after you were supposed to come. What happened?"

Clara rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "We got a lead on the note."

Oswin rolled her eyes and walked past Clara into the house, roughly shoulder–slamming her on the way to her room.

"Very mature, Oswin!" Clara yelled.

"The mature thing is remembering your sister when you were supposed to." Oswin shouted back, slamming the door.

Clara sighed, running her fingers through her hair. She had gotten too caught up in this John business. And it had barely been going on for a day. She walked down the hall to Oswin's room. Very softly, she knocked.

"I'm not opening the door." Oswin said. Her voice was muffled, and there was a slight knocking undertone, like she was hammering something. Clara frowned a bit.

"I'm not asking you to."

Silence. And then– "What are you doing in there?" Clara asked."

"Building a death ray."

"If you kill me, that means you don't get any more rides to camp until you get your license." Clara reminded her. Something thudded down on Oswin's work desk and Oswin exhaled sharply.

"Can't someone build a death ray for the sake of building a death ray?"

"Oswin."

The younger girl was silent. Clara pressed on. "This can't be the only thing that's bothering you. I've forgotten stuff like this before and you never got upset."

"Clara, we've hardly talked since we moved here. We haven't done anything. And you've hardly said a thing about Mom, or what's going to happen, and nobody's told me, I'm just the kid, and now you're always over at John's house and I never get to see you and you don't care about my theater stuff you never ask anymore and..." Oswin had started crying, and guilt swept over Clara.

"Oswin, I..."

"Just go, Clara. You don't want to be here anyway."

Clara sat there for a moment, slumped outside Oswin's fire– engine red door. She fiddled with the carpet, playing with a bit of loose string. "Yes, actually, I do."

Oswin kept on crying.

"Of course I want to be here. There's nothing else I'd rather be doing, nowhere else I'd be. So tell me. What would make you feel better? I'll do anything to help."

Oswin's crying started to slow down. "Wh–why?"

"Because you're my sister, Os, and that's what sisters do."

The door opened a bit and one brown eye peeked out. "Can we do something? Together?"

Clara smiled. "How about a Harry Potter marathon? Like we used to?"

"Do I get to make commentary?"

"Oswin, there's one thing you must understand– it would not be a Harry Potter marathon if you didn't make commentary."

The door opened, and Clara stood up, arms out. Oswin ran into her, still sniffling, and hugged her tightly. "It's okay, Os. You're okay."

"By the way," Oswin said into the front of Clara's dress, voice muffled. "It's your turn to get the mail."

Clara started laughing. Soon Oswin joined in, and she fully stopped crying. Clara ruffled her hair. "How about I go and get the mail and you queue up the movies?"

"Okay." But Oswin kept clinging to her.

"Os?"

"Yes? I'm queuing up movies. Not hugging you anymore." Oswin said, still hugging Clara.

Clara gently pried Oswin away from her. "Go on. I'm getting the mail."

She went out and opened the mailbox, picking up the stack of papers and rifling through them. Magazine, magazine, newsletter, flyer, notification from Trenzalore– oh. Her fingers closed around that– but there was something on the back. A sticky note? She tore it off, and her breath hitched.

It was small. It was lavender. and in the corner, there was the Trenzalore insignia stamp. Embossed, so it appeared on both sides.

The whiteout...

Clara shook it off and shoved it back into the stack of papers. Today, she wouldn't worry about John. This was for her and Oswin.

She pushed open the door. "Ready?" Clara tossed the papers on the table.

Oswin smiled from the couch, bouncing up and down. "Ready!"

–

Later that night, when Oswin was asleep, Clara called up a search on Trenzalore– mainly building plans. From what she had gathered, he couldn't actually be staying in the main hospital– he would have had to be checked in by his legal guardian (Peter) first. He might be in the atrium area, where she saw her mother– but doubtless an attendant would have found him by then if that was the case. And he would have planned, done his reasearch so that wouldn't happen.

There. She's found him now. An abandoned wing of the hospital, just about four hundred feet from the main building. Perfect for a runaway.

She called Peter, who was now on speed dial. "I found him."

"Clara?"

"Hey, that's the first time you've used my first name. Okay. I got a notification from Trenzalore today, and with it was this little purple sticky note reminding me to renew one of my moms meds. Guess what else the sticky note strikingly resembled?" She heard him take a sharp breath. "That's it. He's at the abandoned wing of Trenzalore."

"Okay. okay, heading there now. Want me to pick you up?"

"Yeah."

"Be there in five."

"You'd better." she said, hanging up.

In five minutes, she looked up from where she was on the porch to headlights breaking through the night. Clara was on her feet in a second, gathering her coat about her. "Eyebrows."

"Oswald. Get in."

She complied. "Ready to catch a Doctor?"

"No need." Peter said, flooring the gas. "Got one right here." he glanced sideways at her. "I hope you don't mind, but I didn't feel like waking up Chris and David at eleven forty."

Clara shook her head. "Don't mind at all."

"When did you figure it all out?"

"Twenty minutes ago. Had to be sure before I called you."

He nodded, eyes trained on the dark road ahead. "Good call."

They turned hard, jolting Clara and Peter to the side. "Almost there." he said, teeth gritted. "Got a torch?"

"Nope." she said, popping the p.

"There are two in the glove compartment. Get one out for me too, will you?"

"Okay." She stuck one in the cupholder as they veered to the right and stopped. Clara got out of the car, and she and Peter strode in together, torches blazing.

The inside of the hospital was very dark, and the patches that she lit with were dingy and gray. She and Peter shone lights into all the rooms.

"John?" she called quietly. Peter, however was a lot louder.

"JONATHAN SMITH, GET OUT HERE NOW." he bellowed.

Clara swung the torch around another room– but this time, there was a shadow in the corner. Slowly, it turned, and a pair of scared, dull green eyes peered out at her.

"My clever impossible girl." he whispered, echoing his letter. The sorrow and desperation looked out from his face, clear as day. "Why?"

She stood there, torch shining in his face, taking him in all over again. Gone were the purple waistcoat he insisted on and the ridiculous bowtie– which she had begun to miss– and in their place was a plain blue shirt and dirty brown pants. His knapsack lay open next to him, a pen and more lavender paper spilling out. A wilting violet, identical to the one at Amelia's grave, was being twisted idly in his hands. The same hands that pushed open her window at dawn to leave the sign of the rival.

Am I the enemy?

Is this why he gave me the Dalek? He knew all of my questions; he definitely knows what I'm going to do next. He knows that I'm going to stop this.

I just hope he knows why I have to.

"Peter!" Clara called out, not taking her eyes off John's face. "He's here."

John let them pull him upright and take the knapsack into the car. He didn't say a word when they arrived at Clara's house, was silent as she got out of the car. "Goodbye." she said softly, meeting his eyes for the last time that night. He simply stared at her like a man heading to his execution. She slowly began to leave, the guilt from earlier creeping up on her again. But then he spoke.

"Goodnight." he whispered.

Clara didn't reply, just closed the door and didn't look back.

She walked inside the house, dropping her keys on the table by the door. She didn't even bother trying to be quiet when walking to her room.

That night, she closed the window and put towels under the door. She checked her phone about a million times, but none of the Smiths gave her any updates.

She couldn't sleep again that night. All Clara did was lay on her back in the faint glow of the plastic stars and try very hard to ignore the piece of her heart that had just splintered away and dissolved.


	10. Day 6: Her Flight of Downy Dreams

A/N Only four days left to Deep Breath! Til then, there will probably be an update every day, because I really need to get a few more Days in before the Story–Changing Thing that will be happening in the 23rd update. Thanks to believeinangel for the review! Also, I looked back on a few of my other chapters, and I'm really sorry about their quality issues– I may do a few reuploads because of typos and stuff/ last minute changes that I didn't fully change. Disclaimer: I do not own and Double Disclaimer– the title (and part of the chapter) come from the song Captains of the Sky, which everyone should listen to and I still don't own. Read and review?

Day Six: Her Flight of Downy Dreams

Over the next few days, Clara only recieved brief text updates from Peter and David. John wasn't going to work; he was barely eating, and he didn't talk until two days after. So when she woke up at nine am to a thunderous knocking on her front door, she was extremely surprised. She pulled herself out of bed and went to the door, still in her ratty t–shirt and shorts that she had slept in. She was even more surprised to see the person who occupied the threshold.

"Hallo, then." Clara said roughly, meeting the excited green eyes before her with a cool, dark stare. "Can't say I was expecting you."

He frowned "Why not?"

"For starters, after the stunt you pulled a few days ago, I thought Peter had you on house arrest."

He jerked a thumb towards the car, which was idling in front of her house. A shadowed figure who she assumed was Peter sat in the front seat, tapping out some rhythum with his hands. When he finally spotted her looking at him, he gave a half wave. She waved back.

"Is he here just to keep tabs on you?" she questioned.

"No." John rolled his eyes. "You have to go check in with him before we leave. And call him when we're done, which I personally think is a bit much, but I'm also not entitled to an opinion. He doesn't want me doing it again."

"If you were in his place, would you?"

"...no..."

"And I didn't think you'd want to talk to me. You didn't exactly want to say anything the day you came back. Or, according to your brothers, the day after." She crossed her arms. "You've been missing work, and you played mute on a Doctor Day."

John rubbed his neck. "Yeah. I did."

"And that you looked tired, which you really do. Have you been sleeping?"

The purple circles under his eyes wrinkled as he scowled. "Of course I've been sleeping, Clara. And I didn't come here to bring all that up. I came here to apologize."

"I accept your apology." Clara paused and cocked her head at him, narrowing her eyebrows. "Out of curiosity, which part are you apologizing for? The secrets, or the lies?"

"All of the above." He sighed.

"And what about this?" Clara tossed something to him- the Dalek. His semi-cheerful almost- normal facade cracked for a moment, and the boy in a dingy hospital room resurfaced. But only for a moment; then he recovered, and he stuffed the thing into one of his pockets. Clara blinked; he was wearing a dark green coat that she had never seen him wear before. It looked nice.

"Ignore that. I came to ask you a question."

Clara tucked a stray hair behind her ear and tried to push her annoyance away. "Yeah?"

"Would you...er, I don't know..." Clara held back a laugh at his adorable stutter– could she stay mad? Yeah. She had to. But if she didn't...

"Spit it out, Chin." she teased, and he looked up, caught off guard. a bit of a genuine smile peeked through, and a flash if hope made her smile too.

"Would you like to go on an adventure? Like we did the other day. You know, just exploration adventurey day."

She pretended to think about it before breaking into a huge grin. "Oh my god yes. Just let me get an actual shirt and everything on, okay?"

"Okay." He stepped inside while she ran to her room, right past Oswin, who opened her mouth to say something. Clara beat her to it: "I'm going on another explorey thing with Joh- er, Mr. Smith. I'll be back before three and I'll have my phone on me. Good?"

She kept going without waiting for a response. Clara yanked open the door to her room and began searching for a clean shirt.

Outside, she could hear Oswin's muffled voice and John's quieter reply. Giving up on finding a clean one, Clara picked a shirt up off the floor and sniff-checked it. "All clear." she muttered, and pulled it on. There actually were a pair of pants in her closet, which she gladly took.

Clara bounced into the living room, where Oswin was sitting in awkward silence with John standing near the door. He started smiling, a real, full, genuine smile, and she smiled back. "Ready, Doctor?"

John offered his arm to her. "Only if you are, my dear Clara."

"Thanks for waiting, Chin." She reached up instinctually and straighened his purple bowtie, which she was very much pleased to see again.

"Oh, it was a pleasure."

"Please just get to the part where you skip romantically out the door because I cannot handle the level of fluff that is filling this room." Oswin gagged.

"Skipping sounds good." Clara mused.

"Let's."

And so, our two heroes skipped out the door.

"Where are we off to this time?"

"Anywhere!" John shouted. "WE ARE CAPTAINS OF THE SKY!"

"Yeah, but...Earthbound ones." Clara observed.

He made a noise. "Stop killing my dreams. Gosh."

He sounded so...normal. Just like he did before the incident.

"Okay, okay." She relented. "But where are we going? Trenzalore again?"

Her sharp tone was lost on him, or he was just remarkably good at acting oblivious. "Nah. Trenzalore's boring. Tell me, Clara, where's the fun in going places you've already been?"

"Sometimes it's not so bad..." Clara trailed off.

"When?"

"What if you're returning to a place, and it has changed a lot? Then it would be like exploring something totally new, a whole new world to be in."

John shrugged, which is rather hard to do while skipping, but somehow he managed it. "I wouldn't know." he said. "I've never actually been out of Neptune Creek."

"Is that why you..." she trailed off as he nodded.

"Yeah. That's why I." He rolled his eyes. "You can actually say the word, Clara. You wonut summon Voldemort."

She rolled her eyes. "You ran away because you wanted to get away for a bit? Chin, you should've said!" She pushed his shoulder. "We could've gone on a trip or something."

"That was part of it."

"I'm not going to ask what the other part of it was. Why? Because I know you're not going to tell me."

He nodded silently, which is also hard while skipping.

An idea popped into her head, and she halted as it reworked itself in her brain until– yes. YES. That would work so well. She smiled up at him. "So this time, I'm taking you on the adventure."

John almost stopped. "What?"

"Yup! Clara knows how to adventure too." Clara said with a huge grin, pulling him back along the sidewalk towards her house. Peter had left after she confirmed her cell number and gave him her word that she would not assist John in doing anything that could end up like the other day.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

"You'll see." Clara smiled a bit as she replied. This was a very good surprise.

"You've got to tell me where we're going."

She turned back to him, mouth open. "Are you seriously about to get on me about not telling you stuff? Seriously?"

"Er, Never mind."

"That's what I thought. Close your eyes?"

He blinked at her. "Why?"

Clara huffed. "Try a little trust, Doctor." He huffed back, but did as she asked. She took him by the hand and led him out through the woods, weaving throught the trees.

"OW."

"I am so sorry I swear I did not see that tree there."

"Was that retribution? I sense retribution."

"You sense nothing, Chin. Now shut up."

About a minute later, he began whining. "Are we there yet?"

"Nearly."

Another minute– "What about noooow."

"Shh."

Finally they arrived. "Here." she said proudly. He opened his eyes, and a patch of light bounced off of his iris, making it glow like a pale leaf. "Oh." he said softly. Clara sat, and he came down beside her– John was wonderstruck, and she was so pleased.

"This..this is just...wow. Wow, Clara."

"The companion knows a thing or two." Clara smirked. "And now the really cool part." She twisted behind her and pointed. "See that tree?"

"Clars," John said in a patronizing tone, "There are a lot of trees over there."

She stood up and walked near the tree. "This one." She patted its trunk. "This tree marks the city boundaries of Neptune Creek. The is the outside of the city."

John stared at her for a moment before realization dawned on his face.

"I just thought of it when you told me that you'd never been out. When we were looking for you the other day, I found it." She shrugged. "Bit of a surprise."

"Thank you." he was on his feet in a flash, staring at the dirt that was the boundary. "Clara Oswald...thank you." He met her gaze. "Thank you so freaking much."

"Come on, Doctor." Clara gestured for him to come forward. He took a step, and then hesitated.

"Leaving seems so strange." John mused. "But when you think about it–"

He stepped carefully over the dirt and took her hand. Five little shivers ran through her arm, and she smiled broadly, glad to see he was doing the same.

"When you think about it, that's all it is." Now he was looking directly into her eyes. "One." They were close. "Single." He leaned in a bit. "Step."

And then his lips met hers, and the world around them burst.

It was like a thousand sparklers going off in her stomach. It was like fire, and ice, and the eye of a hurricane. His hands did that cute thing there they slid farther from her cheek and then jumped back, and she found hers looping around his neck, and the light was perfect and it felt like everything but them had ceased to exist and it was so–

He broke away. "Wrong."

She met his eyes; they were troubled, not at all the way they had been moments before. "What?"

John backed away so quickly that he stumbled a little bit over one of the tree roots that was sticking out of the ground. The dappled light flashed over his face, lightening and shading his terrified face. "This is really wrong. I'm sorry, Clara, I can't. I just can't."

"John?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I really, really should not have done that." John ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the adorable floppy bit. He was very flustered, and her heart dropped into the space where her stomach should be. Clara forced the upsetness down, masking her disappointment. How was it wrong?

For her, it had been magical.

"Chin, you're blushing," she laughed a bit, which only made him blush harder. "I'm fine with it. Let's pretend like it never happened, okay?"

He nodded fervently, which only made her laugh more.

"Rose is back in town, yes?"

"Well, there's been a significant lack of David around the house..."

"Let's take that as a yes. They're probably out on Mission Kisspossible."

John snorted.

"We can head over to the coffee shop?" Clara suggested. John gave a half smile.

"Just like the first day?"

Clara smiled. "Minus that bloody rainstorm. Captains of the sky need smooth sailing."

"Sounds like a great plan." John offered his arm to her. "Shall we be off, my captain?"

"Flutter all through the night..." she murmured as they skipped off.

"And we can pull the clouds around this paper hanger skyline," John sang.

"Summer smile again, and..." she faltered, but continued. "and you can disappear,"

"But I'd rather be here." they sang in unison. She liked the sound of his singing voice.

"Hello down there," John smiled down at her, and with the hand not clasped in his, she swatted his arm.

"The morning made of singers in the air,"

"Keeping the midnight stars held high,"

"We are captains of the sky, waving goodbye."


	11. Day 7: The Eternally Tardy

**A/N Oh–kay! I just want to make another little announcement– these chapters are going to be a bit shorter, maybe 2000 (or a bit less) words, because a. they're daily and b. there's a lot of...weird, to say the least stuff going on right now. I mean, a LOT. Huge thanks to GriffinGirl8655, DragonLover726, and Guest for the AMAZING reviews– you guys seriously made my day 100% better– or should I say 300%? :). Forewarning– I'm exhausted right now, so if this makes no sense I'll change it up in the morning. Read and review?**

**EDIT: executive decision- I'm reuploading tomorrow morning when I'm awake.**

**EDIT NUMBER TWO: okay, this is weird- I tried to access chapter eleven this morning, but it wouldn't let me on, so big full happy reupload!**

Day Seven: The Eternally Tardy

"We need to get you a proper job."

Clara looked up at Rose, who was sitting across the table. They were meeting David at the coffee shop. The blonde girl shrugged. "What? Whenever you talk about that computer place you sound sad, and John said that you were having trouble with coding to begin with."

"It's a perfectly fine job! And there's nothing wrong with my coding."

"Did you know that the art teacher is leaving Neptune Creek?"

"I only do art at home, and you know that."

Rose continued, undeterred. "And I've seen some of your stuff. You're really good."

"I'm okay." Clara sipped her tea. "I'm not that good."

"And I'm sure you can teach children how. I mean, it can't be that hard."

Clara scoffed. "Rose, teaching is definitely hard. You have to stuff information into children's heads. And they don't want the information. Plus, you have to catch their attention, and make stuff interesting, and I could never do it. Teaching is hard, Rose."

Rose shrugged. "But you could at least try. There's no harm in trying, right?"

Clara sighed as Rose stirred sugar into her coffee cup with one hand, ripping another packet open with the other. "How can you stand it with that much sugar?"

"Don't change the subject. Aw, you picked that up from your boooyfriend."

Clara twirled the stick arround in her tea, watching little gray leaves twirl in the translucent green liquid. "He's not my boyfriend." A full day after the Kiss, and she still didn't know what to think except not to think about it at all costs. But she kept remembering the mispxture of sadness and terror in his eyes as he backed away from her..like she was the enemy. She forced that down too. No need to think about that again– he wouldn't explain. he never would, so there was no point to keeping the question.

Now it was Rose's turn to scoff. "Pretty sure he is."

"David is your boyfriend. He does...I don't know, boyfriend–y stuff. John is my friend who just happens to be of the opposite gender." she said.

"Fine. You picked this up from your friend who is a boy." Rose rolled her eyes and checked the clock. Clara followed her gaze.

"What time was David supposed to be here?"

Rose's eyes flitted to the sidewalk outside the Neptune Creek Coffee Shop. "About five minutes ago."

"The Smith brothers seem to have a penchant for being late." Clara observed. Rose rolled her eyes.

"Oh my god you have no idea. One time before you came, there was this back–to–school function that was going on, right? This was right when we started dating. And I'm like, hey, David, we ought to go, and he's like, sure, pick you up at five thirty. So at five thirty, I was all ready and waitin' by the door, hoping that little gray Jeep would come trundling jnto the driveway– and then guess what happened?"

Clara smiled broadly, waiting for the punchline.

Rose leaned in, eyes widening. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So I called him, and he's like, I'm in your driveway I've been there for the past thirty minutes and I check but he's not there. And then I call him again, and he's like, ok, I'm coming in, and he keeps the phone on and knocks on the door. But he's still not there. And I hear the door opening and someone going, 'Hi,' and he goes, 'Is Rose there?' and the person at the door goes, 'No, but I wish she was,' and then David starts backing up and then he whispers into the phone 'okay wrong house' and then he starts driving off and when he finally gets there, the thing had ended and we just–" she cleared her throat. "erm...played checkers."

Clara gave Rose a knowing look.

"Checkers?"

"Lots of checkers." Rose confirmed. Clara tried to stifle a laugh, but it burst out anyways. Then Rose was laughing too, and when David finally walked it they were both at the edge of tears.

"Rose? Clara? What's going on?

"You." Rose choked out, which inspired another fit of laughter in Clara. David cracked a smile, but his confusion was very obvious.

"Uh, I'm going to get a coffee. Want anything?" In response, Clara and Rose held up their mugs. Realization dawned on David's face.

"How late am I this time?"

Rose tilted her head up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Not too late. Hurry back, okay?"

Once he was out of earshot, they began giggling again. "And he didn't check the address or anything?" Clara questioned.

Rose shook her head, grinning. David returned, steaming coffee in hand. "What's up?"

"I was just telling Clara about the new opening at the school. You know, the one I was telling you about? Art teacher?"

"Oh, yes! Clara, we thought you'd be perfect for that." David smiled broadly, sipping his coffee. Clara looked at the table, a bit abashed.

"I'm not actually that good." She mumbled into her tea.

"I beg to differ. David, I showed you the pictures, didn't I?"

"Not yet, but you said that they were beautiful."

Rose fished her phone out of her purse. "I've got them here." Clara began to sink down in her chair, holding the tea close to her chest.

"Oh wow. Clara, these are amazing!"

"But I know nothing about art theory, or some of the techniques, and I don't think I could teach!" Clara protested.

"You should still try. Right, Rose?"

Rose nodded fervently. "That's exactly what I was saying. We could go over there now, pick up some of the paperwork?"

Clara shrugged.

"I'll drive to the bookstore later..." In an instant, Clara was upright. "Let's go."

David stood and helped Rose do the same. Clara stood on her own, and realized that she had not thought about John at all in the past thirty minutes. She hadn't worried, she hadn't questioned...and it felt kind of good.

–

The job actually didn't look half bad.

Neptune Creek would pay her a little more than what she was earning at the coding and computer repair shop– and the job was a lot better than the one at the computing and repair shop. She had looked up some of the things she would need to teach– mastery of color, basic sketching skills, etc, and none of them were too far beyond her. She could definitely do this.

Her phone buzzed next to her, and she picked it up. Incoming Call from John. She tucked the phone between her shoulder and her ear and kept filling out forms. "Hallo, the Chin."

"I heard you're applying for the art job." he said, voice soft. She smiled.

"Yeah. Might be more trouble than it's worth, though. You would not believe how many papers I have to fill out for this thing."

"Want me to come over and help?"

"Knowing Peter, I'll probably have to sign a form for that as well."

John made a noise at is end of the line that she took as agreement.

"Look at this– er, listen to this. A concussion form. Why do I ned to sign a freaking concussion form to apply for this job?"

"Calm down, Clara."

"Speaking of calm– are you doing okay?" She asked.

There was silence on the other end. and then– "Yeah. I'm fine. Went back to camp today." He seemed a bit cheered up by the last sentence. Clara smiled a bit to herself.

"Oswin told me. How was it?"

"It was okay. I mean, weird, but the appreciated me being back. Apparently they hated the sub."

"Who was the sub?"

"David."

"You're kidding."

"Not at all." John said, laughing. "Why do you find that hard to believe?"

"It's– I mean– David! Doesn't everyone just like automatically like him?"

"Yeah, but apparently he's a rubbish teacher. They said he rambles too often. That's an actual quote from one of the kids."

"Oh, poor David! Did you tell him yet?"

"Nope. It would break his heart. He wants to be an English teacher when he grows up." John said in a mock–sympathetic tone.

"Don't you need a degree for that?"

"He got one online, since there aren't any colleges nearby. Now he's just waiting for the old teacher at the school to kick the bucket."

"I see where he's coming from, but that is absolutely terrible."

"Then why are you laughing?"

"No I'm not." Clara said,trying to stop laughing.

"Of course."

There was a bit of noise, and then John yelled, "IT'S JUST CLARA FOR GOD'S SAKE STOP WORRYING."

Clara winced, and loosened her shoulder muscles for just a second– enough for the phone to slip out and fall on the floor. she dropped her pen and scrambled to pick it up. "Er, sorry. Missed that last bit."

"Just yelling. Peter wants to know who I'm talking to because HE'S EXTRAORDINARILY PARANOID."

She could make out Peter yelling something back, and then John sighed. "I deserve it, don't I."

"Yup." she said, popping the p. "Now quiet. I've got papers, remember?"

"Right."

There was silence for a moment as she finished filling out the seventh paper of that night. And then– "Do you want me to hang up?"

"What? No, I meant no more loud– yelliness. That was distracting. Talking is nice."

"Is it bothering Oswin?"

"She's at a friend's house. Isn't that amazing? She made a friend!"

"Oh my god. I'll call the press– I can see the headline now. 'OSWIN OSWALD MAKES A FRIEND.'"

"When you say it like that, it sounds like a kid's book."

"After it's a movie then it'll be a kid's book."

"A movie?"

"Oh yes. We can get that one person, Jenna–something to be Oswin, and– too far?"

Clara nodded, then realized he still couldn't see her. "Too far."

"Sorry. Stopping."

"It's fine." Clara said automatically.

Silence again.

After about a minute and a half– "Okay. I've got to go now." he said. "Finishing grading stuff for tomorrow. Talk tomorrow?"

"Sure. Bye, Doctor boy."

"Bye, Impossible girl."

There was a click, and she dropped her phone on the ten other sheets she needed to fill out for this job.

She sighed and pressed her back up against the couch. It was nicer with someone talking to her, because that way, she didn't feel as alone.


	12. Day 8: Hearts Aside

**A/N Oh my god you guys are the nicest. No big announcements today, thank gosh. WAIT- yes there was. Since I really, REALLY need the 23rd update to ve perfect, there will be no update tomorrow. I want to make the 23rd one at least 3000 words. (It it an outrageously importnat update). Izwick- YES THAT VIDEO WAS SERIOUSLY AMAZING. GriffinGirl- I wish I had him for Physics. That would be absolutely fantastic. Guest- If you didn't see any, that means I'm doing something right :P Still, there were a few continuity errors that I believe that I've fixed up now, like Oswin asking her mom for a ride in the first chapter, and Clara seeing the two on the runaway note but saying three. Emma- thank you so much :) sorry I made you cry though! I'd also like to thank 5150, Izwick, librarykate, cryptologicalMystic, and Tera Gray for the follows! (pretty sure I got all of the ones I didn't mention before in there…) Okay! Read and review?**

**Day 8: Hearts Aside**

Ten pieces. That's how many the portfolio needed. After finishing the paperwork the night before, she had believed that she was done; however earlier that morning she had been rejected from the application desk because she did not also bring a portfolio of her work to date- at least ten pieces. Clara had selected four from a mess of comics and sketches that covered her work desk, but still needed five more. She had been working at this one since she got back to her house at ten; Oswin had just been in her room the whole time.

Finally, she gave up and pulled out her phone.

"Chin?"

"Clara?" John sounded tired.

"Are you all right?"

"Had a long night." He yawned. "How about you?"

"Name a random thing- er, animal. Name a random animal."

"Any reason why?"

Clara huffed. "Does there have to be a reason? Just do it."

"Um, swan."

Clara cocked her head, thinking. Swans were simple, yet elegant- a mastery of their design would showcase ber abilities in a way that wasn't too ridiculously flambouyant. "Okay. Perfect. Thanks. "

"Why?"

She pulled out a new paper and began to sketch. Over the phone, John sighed. "Clara, what is going on."

"I needed inspiration for a sketch. I've literally been at the same thing all morning and I'm. So. Bored."

"Do black and white only. In color it would look stupid."

"Good idea. Do you know what makes it better? The fact that I thought of it first."

"Shut up."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Welcome, Impossible girl. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Tell me what was really wrong earlier in this conversation." Clara said, still sketching the basic structure. "I know that you lied."

"I didn't lie. It was a long night. Bye, Clars." He hung up.

Because no matter how much he trusted her, he wouldn't be able to tell her that he tried to cry himself to sleep just so that he could. He couldn't tell her that at one in the morning, eyes on the verge of closing, he snuck outside his house. He didn't tell her that he passed by her house, pressing his fingers against the window that she had locked. Was it because of him?

And he'd never say, not in a million years, that he dropped the violets he was carrying when he was halfway there. The note fell out of his hand; it was shaking too much.

He wouldn't say that there was only one week left until the day that she had died.

John hadn't lied. For him, it had been a long night. It had been the longest since Amy left him.

But it wasn't just fear or insomnia keeping him awake.

It was something much worse.

Clara finished the swan in about forty five minutes, took a photo, and sent it to John. Then she stood up for the first time in hours, got a glass of water, and waited for a reply.

J: Wow. David was right, you are good.

C. Thanks. J

J: What are you doing next?

C: Halfway through, sooooo….break time.

J: Sounds like you.

C: Not sure how to respond to that

J: Five more, right

J: ?

C: Yup.

Neither said anything for a minute. Clara picked up her charcoal again and started up again. She had no clue what else to say. He was keeping secrets, and nothing she had to say could inspire a conversation; they were at a dead end.

After a while, he texted back.

J: Do you still have the note?

C: Yeah. Are you ever going to tell me what it means?

There was a pause.

J: Look, however much of it you figured out- just leave it at that. you can throw it away.

C: But I don't want to. Your handwriting's so pretty.

J: And your sketches are so pretty- but if you had one with no meaning, then what's the point?

C: You really liked my sketch?

J: ...yeah...

C: You can take it if you want. I don't like it as much for this portfolio.

It was true; it was nice, but definitely not her best work. Not even close to the gray-and-green landscape that was now melting into shape beneath her fingers.

C: I can drop it off later.

J: okay.

She started on the sky, adding blue and purple to the page and then swiping her watercolor brush across, smearing rainbows in the air. A slight breeze tickled the back of her back and she turned a bit to see Oswin yawning at the now-opened door. "Awake then?"

"Can't see how you are."

"I've been up for hours." Clara smiled, dropping her brush and spinning around in her chair. "Last day of camp fun yesterday? You fell asleep as soon as you got into the car, and that's saying something for the Girl Who Never Naps."

"We ran. A lot." She yawned again and raked a hand through her bedhead, eyes bleary and slow to movement. "Please tell me you didn't mummify the coffeemaker again, because I desperately need a cuppa."

"I found the manual, it's fully operational again." Clara rolled her eyes as Oswin grunted and then padded off, obviously still half asleep. "Might want to make a new batch, because the stuff I made's probably lukewarm by now." She called after her zombie-like sister.

"'Kay. Got it."

Clara glanced to the edge of her desk and noticed that there was one new message.

J: How's Oswin?

C: She literally just woke up. What did you all do to them yesterday?

J: Um...just physical exercise.

C: It's a theater camp. Not preseason.

J: Some of these kids only went outside to walk here, Clars. We had to do something.

C: so...you gave me Little Miss Frankenstein.

J: Yup.

C: Thanks. (sarcasm)

J: I hadn't noticed.

She began a fourth picture for that day, a old, twisting tree against a stormy backdrop.

C: What day is today?

J:August 22nd. Friday. Why?

C: ...not because I forgot and am to lazy to check...

J: You really are impossible, aren't you?

C: You'd better believe it.

The tree needed a lot of layering if it was going to look like it did in her head. And to get this job, she needed it to look like how it did in her head. Perfection was key- conversation was not. And at tht, she threw her phone over her shoulder and heard a satisfying thud as it hit the bed. Clara took a deep breath, exhaled, and continued.

She was snapped out of her zone when Oswin screamed, "WHERE DID YOU MOVE THE HONEY."

Clara's hands flew to her ears. "No need to tell the whole sub!"

Oswin slowly reappeared in the door. "Just tell me where you moved the honey."

"Big cupboard, second shelf, very far left. And no more screaming, for god's sakes. I'm working."

"You're doodling."

"I'm applying for an art job. I told you yesterday."

Oswin raised her mug tk her lips and drank. "If you told me after about four o' clock, I wasn't listening. I was thinking about dozing off in Alaska."

Clara frowned. "Why Alaska?"

Oswin shrugged. "Snow looks like a big, shiny, damp pillow."

"Good point."

Later that day, Clara drove back up to Neptune Creek's only high school and reapplied for the position. This time, they accepted her, did a mini-impromptu interview, and smiled at her on the way out. She smiled back and fingered the swan that sat in her pocket.

She didn't even look at the graveyard as she drove past. Even if she had, it would have passed a bit too fast to really see it- crushed violets that were tired of being stamped on all day, a torn up letter, and a splash of something red. Clara wouldn't have thought anything of it if she had looked. The red she would have attributed to a leaf; perhaps someone dropped a flower or two when walking to a grave.

But she didn't see anything. She saw road and railways and steel. Clara had set her heart aside for a second, and was enjoying every minute of it.

She slid the picture under the door, accidentally creasing the edge as it went in. "I've found you a home, Mr. Swan," she whispered to her creation. "Go right on in. They're nice- the oldest one can be a bit bossy, and the youngest is just rebellion personified, and the one slightly older than him is this adorable romantic. But the middle one- the middle one is my special mystery, and I think he needs your help."

Clara heard someone approaching the door, and quickly hid behind the side of the house. The door opened and John stepped out, orange pill bottle in hand. He stooped to pick up the picture, and Clara heard him laugh a bit.

"Thank you, Clars." he whispered. She heard the door shut again.

Very quickly, she ran to her car and drove back home. Why did she hide? She hadn't meant to- she'd wanted to stay there, talk a bit, then head off with some empty excuse. Clara had not meant to press herself against the windowless side of his house, waiting for him to close the door.

But she hadn't meant to give him the swan either...

Sometimes, Clara decided, things just happen. You can't stop them, you can't change them, so why not accept them?

Right?


	13. The Second Last Day

**A/N Hello there! Guess who's doing a double today? And happy Deep Breath day! *fangirls* Izwick- I'm perfectly fine with that- there are a lot of other ways that part of the story could be used and I'm excited to see what you do with it :) Emma- sorry about that, most of thses chapters are written quickly. I'll try and fix it in a bit. So! We are nearly at the plot twist of a Thing that I have planned out. This chapter is a bit different than the other ones- it's Day 8 from John's point of view, because there were a lot of things going on that Clara couldn't see...VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: The next two chapters are going to have a lot of really raw emotion and mentions of pills/drugs (which you probably caught from the last chapter) and, most importantly, deal heavily with suicide- but nobody actually dies. (yes, Milo. I changed it.) So. Maybe a triggery thing. If you don't get triggered by that continue; if not, sorry about this, but I've got to do it for the story. Also- this is a double that should collectively reach 3000. Part two will be up soon. Read and review?**

Day 358: Paper Swans

or: The Second Last Day

He woke up thinking that it was the last day.

This wasn't new. In fact, it hadn't been any different since three hundred and seventy two days ago, when he silently walked out of his room for the first time in a week. Since then, it had been a series of distractions, one after the other, leading up to the biggest one yet- an actual living person. Which had worked well for a while, until he started to become a bit too attached. It was John's policy not to become attatched to things that will leave. Or, in this case, be left behind.

He sat up, a sudden sharp pain in his side- there was something in his coat pocket. John frowned, pulling it out- the Dalek was still in his coat from the meeting with Clara yesterday. He yawned and dropped it on the table, oblivious as a half-open orange bottle fell to the floor, dropping its contents to the floor and settling at his feet. He looked down at it, eyes still clouded with sleep. Orange, he had decided, was not an appealing color. Using his foot, John ushered the pills and their home to a thriving community under his bed of exactly the same thing.

He opened the door and headed into the hall, expecting to hear something from Peter at least, who appeared to have begun a dictatorship over John's life- but there was nothing. The entire house was quiet. It was unnerving, to say the least.

John turned the stove on beneath the kettle and sat at the kitchen table. It was quiet and lonely, and he wasn't sure if he liked it as much. Where was his laptop? Back in the TARDIS, still burning that disc. He wouldn't be able to use it for the next hour or two. Had he left his phone in his pocket? Hm...yes. Here it is.

The water fizzed in the kettle, and John realised why everyone was out. It was already nearly ten, and they were all out doing their respective jobs. There were eleven new messages from Melody, but there were always new messages from Melody in these days after the Incident.

M: I found another one, not as far out of state than the last one.

M: You need to get some help, John, and I'm trying in every way I can.

M: I know that you can see these.

He could see them; he just chose to ignore them because he didn't need her, he really didn't need anyone and he definitely didn't need someone with a shiny sheet of embossed paper telling him that he was wrong.

Sighing, John turned off the water and began to pour it into a cup. Why had he been so tired? Right- the last day of summer camp. A bit of the boiling water splashed from the kettle onto his hand, and he swore, dropping both kettle and mug to the counter as he ran to the kitchen sink.

Of course, Clara chose that exact moment to call him.

Without moving his hand, he slid awkawdly over to the table, using his fingers to inch the phone towards him. He finally picked up, barely making it on the last ring.

"Chin."

"Clara?" John shut off the water and tried not to sound tired.

"Are you all right?" No such luck, then.

"Had a long night." That much was completely true. He yawned, regretting it almost instantly- he really didn't want her to worry. "How about you?"

"Name a random thing- er, animal. Name a random animal."

That took him by surprise. "Any reason why?"

"Does there have to be a reason? Just do it."

John scanned the room, eyes landing on an origami swan that David had taped to the wall. "Um, swan."

"Okay. Perfect. Thanks."

"Why?"

She didn't respond, and John sighed. "Clara, what is going on."

"I needed inspiration for a sketch! I've been at the sane thing all morning and I'm. So. Bored."

"Do black and white only." John said, gazing at the pale paper swan with its sharp edges. "Color would make it look stupid."

"Good idea. Do you know what maes it better? The fact that I thought of it first."

John rolled his eyes and sipped his tea. "Shut up."

"Thank you, Doctor." Clara replied.

"Welcome, Impossible Girl. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Tell me what was really wrong earlier in the conversation." She said, and he slowly set down his mug. "I know you lied."

"I didn't lie." he said, a bit of anger seeping into his voice. "It was a long night. Bye, Clars."

He hung up, not waiting for her goodbye.

She sent him a picture of the swan; it was amazing. Really; he knew that she would be fabulous at this art job. They had texted for a while, then she said that she would drop off the picture. John wasn't sure if a. he was upset, b. he was pleased or c. if visitors were allowed over while he was on house arrest.

A while later, he saw her car pull up while he was tryibg ti find the contents of the spilt bottle to toss out. But he didn't want to open the door. He crept over softly and sat against it.

John could hear Clara's muffled voice through the door.

"I've found you a home, Mr. Swan." She whispered, sliding the picture under the door. "Go right on in. They're nice- the oldest one can be a bit bossy, and the youngest is rebellion personified-"

John stifled a laugh with his hand as Clara continued. "And the one slightly older than him is this adorable romantic. But the middle one-"

His eyes got a bit wider.

"The middle one is my special mystery, and I think he needs your help."

That was it. He suddenly needed touch her face again, to feel her warmth- god, just so see her would make the world better. He stood and opened the door-

-but she was gone. Her car was still here, but she had disappeared. He stooped to pick up the picture, barely aware that there was still an orange bottle in his hands.

This was what he got from getting attatched to people. This was his reward. The beautiful material but a fearful soul.

"Thank you, Clars." he whispered. Thank you for showing me what I am, as you have proven yourself so adept at doing. Thank you for showing me what I turn people into.

He closed the door and began to swipe the tears away before they left his eyes. John heard footsteps going away; then Clara's car started and she was gone.

John looked down at the pill bottle in one hand and the painting in the other. Suddenly, a rage overtook him, and he threw the pill bottle at the wall, nearly bringing down the paper swan that quivered in anticipation of flight.

Then he screamed.

It was a good scream, long, and piercing and held back for three hundred and fifty eight days.

He stood, slipping the painting into his jacket and stormed into his room, slamming it with the heel of his hand for good measure.

"WHY." He punched his pillow as hard as he could. "WHY. COULDN'T. YOU. LEAVE. AMELIA. ALONE. "

Because Clara HAD to bring Mrlody back into this and she HAD yo ask so many questions he tried his hardest to avoid-

-but then it was his fault, his fault for beling secretive and caring in the first place, his fault for crying a feew feet from her grave, his fault for dropping her favorite flower and coughing up blood. It was always his fault in the end, no matter how he reworked it.

He sat down on his bed, looking at the pictures on his nightstand.

Raggedy man, goodbye, she whispered, and then she fell.

But this time he was falling, not her, but he could see her again on the water, bright hair fanned out around her, darkening with every passing second.

Raggedy man, goodnight.

Was it time to go?

Was it time to change?

When he thought about how much he had changed.. it scared him. It scared him half to death. "We all change, though," he whispered to himself, "when you think about it. We're all different people throughout our lives. And that's okay. That's good. We've got to keep moving, so long as you remember all the people you used to be."

He remembered. He always would.

John grabbed at a paper and scribbled something down. For the first time in what felt like a million years, he knew for certain that today was not the last day.


	14. The Last Day

A/N Hi again! It's still today! I just realized that this is going to be the first chapter with a title drop! Cool! (meaning I actually use the title of the piece in the chapter). RandomW- the thing is, he's not actually on drugs, but in the canon I made for this story, he snuck a few bottles worth out of Trenzalore and thinks of them as unused suicide attempts- in short, he's not a druggie, but he is going through serious depression that he's trying very hard to hide. In the original draft, he actually died in these next few chapters, but his character is much more persistant than I thought he would be, so he lives. Izwick- define 'happy ending'. Kidding, don't worry, it all ends nicely. This really feelsy stuff only lasts for the next few chapters. So, everyone! What were your opinions of Deep Breath? I loved it! Capaldi is going to be an awesome Doctor :) Disclainer: Still don't own. Read and review?

The Last Day

It was Peter's turn to be awakened by a loud rapping on the front door. However, unlike John's thunderous knock this was quick and fast, repeated over and over.

Peter stood and frowned- there was a blue thing in the corner of the room that had definitely not been there before. The TARDIS? but it was still John's month. He shook it off and stumbled out of his room to the door. "Hello, Oswald." he said. She barely took notice. A disk was held gingerly between her fingers.

"Where is he?"

"Hasn't woken up yet."

She flashed the disk in his face. "Yes, he has. Out of my way, Peter."

Clara shoved past him, beelining for John's room. Peter followed, confused.

"What's going on?"

Now she was rapping on John's door. "John, please come out here. Now."

"Clara-"

She spun around, eyes blazing. "Guess what showed up ag my house today? The Dalek and this-" she waved the disc around- "this sort of sick suicide note, and I need to know that he's okay. John!" She tried the knob and swore. "He locked it."

Peter tried the door as well; it wouldn't yield. Then an idea struck him. "Through the TARDIS. Come on."

She followed him through his room, past the dark TARDIS and glowing console, and into John's room. Her breath hitched.

He was unconscious on the floor. There was another scribbled lavender not beside him, and next to that were three small pills.

Peter instantly ran over to him and checked his vitals while Clara picked up the note. "He's still breathing." Peter muttered, putting his fingers to John's wrist. Then something under the bed caught his eye. A small clump of grayish- brown things like the ones lying next to his hand and several upturned orange tubes.

"Oh, John..." Peter whispered. "No.."

"Come on. We've got to get him to Trenzalore."

Peter carried him out to the car. Clara got into the passenger seat of her own car, heart pounding. Peter looked at the controls, eyebrows furrowed, and demanded, "Do you happen to know how to drive this thing?"

Clara unbuckled and slid over. "Don't use one like this, then?"

"Nope."

They were silent the rest of the way to the emergency room.

Clara began to cry a bit as they neared the hospital. Peter glanced over at her, unexpressive. "Deep breath, Clara." He advised. "He'll be fine."

To her, it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself as well, which didn't make her feel any better.

Clara leapt out of the car the first chance she got, bolting for the entrance. There was only ine other person in line- an old rambling woman who clearly spoke very little English. The receptionist was patient, but Clara wasn't. Finally, she strode past the woman up to the desk and slammed her hand down.

"Listen." Clara growled. "My friend is...hurt. His name is the Doc-er, John Smith- and you've got to help him right now."

"Where is he?" the receptionist asked, tapping a button and opening the double doors next to the desk.

As if on cue, the revolving door in front opened and Peter stepped out, John limp over his shoulder.

The receptionist rose, and Clara noticed her nametag- Tasha. "Peter Smith."

"Tasha Lem."

"We meet again."

Peter shook his head. "D'you know, this is really not the time. We've got an issue here."

"I can see that." Tasha replied coolly. "Come with me."

She led them down a hallway to a door with a band of slightly pulsing green around the center.

Peter pushed the door open, and it slowly turned red. He set John up on the only bed in the room, adjusting the chair.

Tasha cleared her throat, and they both turned to face her. "I have to ask you to leave him now."

Peter's face seemed to turn to stone. "I know." he said softly.

Clara, who had been standing with Tasha on the threshold, leaned against the doorframe now, unwilling to leave.

"You've got to leave." Tasha repeated. "Both of you still need to check him in up front."

Clara and Peter reluctantly followed her. Clara kept looking back, expecting him to appear in the doorway like he did the first day. Peter never looked back.

They left him in that room around ten thirty. And at six pm, they were still there.

Peter shifted uncomfortably, feeling very out of place in this tiny waiting room seat. Next to him, Clara kicked some imaginary creature and made a little noise in her sleep. He wasn't entirely sure if he was uncomfortable with the fact that there was a sleeping person with her head on his shoulder next to him or if it was all the chair. He fiddled with the cuff of his navy blue buttondown. Probably both.

After they had finished checking John in, they had settled into the chair of Ridiculous Smallness. Peter had texted David and Chris; Clara had texted Oswin; and then, for no real reason, she fell asleep. Peter didn't see how she could- his knee was bouncing up and down, and he was on high alert.

"No..." Clara murmured. "Please, no..." Her hand moved a bit.

"Clara?"

"Not...notnotnotenot.." she whispered.

"What note, Clara?" She didn't respond. "Oswald?"

He gently shook her shoulder, and her eyes fluttered open. "Remember the boy from gray september." She blurted.

Peter frowned. "What?"

"It's what he wrote. Here, look-"

She handed him the note that was next to John when they found him that morning.

"Remember the boy from gray september-" Peter flipped over the note- "and make certain that he never returns."

"What does that even mean?"

Peter shrugged. "It could mean any number of things. Knowing my brother, it's symbolic. Everything with that boy is symbolism."

"But-" Clara began to say, and then the receptionist called out.

"Oswald and Smith?"

Peter stood and offered his hand to Clara, who promptly ignored him and stood on her own. They approached the desk.

"Please come in. The doctor can see you now."

"An overdose?" Chris asked. Peter nodded. "You're trying to tell me that my brother John, the anti-drugs posterboy, nearly died of an overdose."

"Yeah." Clara confirmed.

"Shit." Chris leaned back in his chair and whistled. David just looked shocked.

Peter, however, was still confused. "Clara, how did you know?"

"Hm?"

"You knew this was all going to happen. Earlier today, you showed up with yhe disc, called it a 'sick suicide note'-"

She produced the disc from her pocket, setting it on the table. Clara didn't say a word.

She stood, checking her watch. "I'd best be going. Watch it if you want; I'm sure you've all got one of your own somewhere."

But she didn't go home. She went to Rose's house. Rose opened the door on the first knock.

"Did he tell you?" Clara asked between sniffles.

Rose looked her over, face sympathetic. "Oh, Clars." She said, voice almost breaking. "I'm so incredibly sorry. Come in."

Back at the Smith house, Peter went back to his room and picked up the TARDIS, hefting it in his grip. "Hey, old girl." he whispered. "Be a pal and help me on this one, will you?"

The TARDIS didn't respond. Of course it didn't- but sometimes he imagined a sort of noise that it would make when materializing. The noise was a constant; it was a communication; it was hope.

A glint under where the TARDIS had been caught his eye, and he slowly picked it up.

Clara was right, he thought, holding the unmarked video disc up into the light.

He slid it into his computer and hit play as his brothers did the sane in the other room.


	15. Nearly Day 9

**A/N Actual chapter this time! Hello again! Since the quick note from earlier will be replaced by this chapter– thanks to Izwick, RandomW and dark thyme lord for your reviews. Also, to RandomW– not really an alter ego. That phrase goes deeper than the surface. You'll see– actually, you'll see part of it in this chapter. Previously on TBFGS, we left off with John in the hospital because of his Incident Part Two, Clara running to Rose for comfort, and the Smith boys watching the discs. Ooh, this will be a fun chapter, yes! I'd like to start with doing a brief recap of that morning from Clara's POV (finding and watching her disc), and then after that there's going to be a pretty rapid switch into Peter's, because Chris and David haven't found theirs yet. And we finally get a full explanation of John giving Clara the Dalek. Also, these are called Nearly Day 9 because yes, there will be a Day 9. It will take some time and tears to get there, but it's a–coming. Good? Disclaimer: I don't own DW. Double Disclaimer: I do not own the twenty one pilots songs that I used as chapter name inspirations/general chapter inspirations. Read and review?**

Nearly Day 9: Dear Miss Believer

Clara couldn't sleep. The stars kept her awake.

Technically, she wasn't awake, but she wasn't really asleep either. She was in that lovely state of inbetween where she could stare, unblinking, at the stars taped to her ceiling, but couldn't bring herself to face the real ones out her window. She was afraid that they'd forgotten her already; if she blinked, they would flicker out.

She had stuffed towels under the front door again. Oswin didn't know why, but didn't question it; Clara had returned home from the picture dropoff quietly sobbing and generally unresponsive. But she didn't know why she did it now– Peter essentially had John on lockdown. He couldn't go anywhere without permission and a confirmed friendperson there to keep tabs. There was no way he could do what he had done before.

None. No possible way.

She finally mustered the energy to turn over and check her clock. Six thirty two.

Was getting up right now really worth it? More to the point, had she found the manual for the coffeemaker? She had. She had and it was...it was tucked behind the cereal boxes so she would see it if she went to get cereal in the morning.

She decided not to, and somehow managed to fall asleep while a good little fairy left a present for her outside her front door.

When she woke up again, it was around nine, and she needed caffeine. Clara quietly padded through the door and down the hall. When she reached the kitchen, she pulled out the manual and set to work. After the coffee had been made, she tugged the towels out from under the door, kicking them to the side of the door. But instead of doing so soundlessly, like the last few times she had done so, there was a clattering noise from somewhere within the towels. Clara practically dove over them to stop the noise– Oswin was still asleep in the other room. Carefully, she looked inside the pile to find a DVD, the clear front of the casing shattered and smashed in by Clara's kick, and lilac back intact, if not dented. The disc lay unharmed in its towel bed.

She sat at her computer, warynof the last time she had put a disc into it. But she did it anyway, because there was only one person who would give this to her. Clara slid it in and pressed play.

"Hello, Clara." He settled into the spinny TARDIS chair. She looked on in shock; it was pre–Incident John. There was still a bit of fire left in his eyes. "I'm guessing that you weren't expecting this. But trust me it had to be done. It's been building, just sort of..." he gestured widely, "exploding, and it's very beautiful and very awful at the same time. Do me a favor, Clara, when I've gone– beware the boy from gray September, no matter how many times he says hello."

She frowned. What boy from gray September? Was that a place or something?

He sighed. "Oh, but it'll take you a while. You'll get there in the end, Clars, and you'll figure it all out. I know you will."

A sudden knocking interrupted him, and he looked over his shoulder, smiling slightly. "That's you here now. Computer troubles, I believe? Get a decent firewall." He frowned a bit and the screen switched. She had left now– it was after their 'adventure'.

"Okay. You're gone now. And I've just got a few questions for you, Future Clara– why did you have to look her up? Why? You could have left her alone. Those memories could've gathered dust in peace." He enunciated his last word, running a hand through his hair. "And Melody is not helping in the least– she's taken this as a all clear to start sending me messages about 'people who can help', so I guess I can thank you for that." She flushed under his baleful stare.

He leaned into the screen. "I'm sorry. I really am. But I've got to do this." Clara shuddered at the conviction in his voice and desperation in his eyes.

"And I'm pretty sure this is what normal people do. They leave notes. Here's my note to you–" he waved a lavender scrap in front of the screen. "You'll be recieving it shortly. And I'm adding something extra to it as well. Hopefully, you'll get the message."

The Dalek. She'd gotten the message.

"The thing is, I'm not sure if you'll interpret it right," Joh continued. "It's different than it outwardly appears. Because in the stories, the Daleks are portrayed as evil, heartless characters that like exterminating things–"

"Well, thanks." muttered Clara, snapping her finger at the plunger.

"But that's not it. Every encounter with the Daleks brought both races to a point where they evolved simply because of the other one. The Doctor changed; the Daleks did too– and soon there came a time where there was a rude, murderous Doctor and the Dalek that saved his life. You, Clara, you were helpful and harmful at the same time– and you've saved my life more times than I can count.

"I'm not really sure what else to say." he mumbled, then looked up at the camera again. "So thank you, screw you, and I'm sorry. All at the same time."

Then, he fiddled with something below the screen– and there was the John she had seen the other day. Post–Incident. It was dark outside; midnight?

"Hello again, Clara. Star Date August 22nd, 2014. It is currently..." he looked out his window, voice growing softer as he turned. "It is currently four o' clock in the morning." She noticed a stray violet petal in his hair. "If you're wondering why I'm up and videoing at four o'clock in the morning, I suggest you stop, because it's actually been happening all summer and I've essentially given up on having a normal sleep pattern." He yawned, and then laughed. "That's funny, too– I yawn but I'm still not tired at all."

Clara almost paused it, but couldn't. She absolutely couldn't.

"I've just been up since three. Clara, have you ever realized how people always say things are beautiful when they're far away? Why is that? Why can't things be beautiful when they're right in front of us? That's...that's sad. That's awful. But it is a good sentiment. Maybe use it some day? You're quite the authoress yourself, Miss Oswald."

Clara frowned. "I don't write stuff. I don't write anything."

"And I know what you're saying now. You're saying that you don't write things. And that's funny, considering the part you're trying to write for me. Think about that, Clara, because knowing you, this will pop up again and again throughout your life– you can't control everything. You just can't. You've got to get used to a bit of chaos."

"Like you?" Clara whispered, staring into his eyes that wouldn't stare back.

"I've got a few things for you to do after I do this. One– Peter is going to act like he knows exactly what's going on, but he's really just sort of blustery and Scottish and has no clue whatsoever. You're going to need to help with that. Two– David's going to go running to Rose (obviously, he does that even when he's not in a crisis mode) and Chris is going to be alone. Do not let this happen, because in this case, Ender's Game is wrong."

She understood what he had meant immediately, if not why. Ender's Game stated 'Isolation is the optimum environment for creativity,'; but in this case, isolation would seriously mess with Chris' head. But– what did he mean, after I do this? He wouldn't plan a huge elaborate scheme to run away. This had to be something else.

Better than the alternative, right? The line from his note suddenly came back to her, and a chill passed over her from head to toe. If running away was the better option, then what was the last resort?

John kept talking.

"Three. You. I know that the boy from gray September– oh, but it would be August for you– fine. I know that the boy from gray August is going to come for you too, probably a bit after you get this message. But I've got to urge you to keep going. Don't give in to him. Because in the end, he won with me. And if there is a world after this one, I don't want to see you become what I became."

Oh.

Oh, no.

This wasn't an elaborate scheme to run away at all.

Clara's heart began racing and she began to feel a bit feverish. That couldn't be what he was planning. No. NO. She paused the disc, popped it out of her computer, and tried her hardest not to break it or attempt to destroy it or anything.

She ran to her room, not really caring if Oswin heard her or not, grabbed a coat to escape the bite in the air, and then ran out the door.

–

Nearly Day 9: Semiautomatic

Peter never liked computers very much.

Tablets he could deal with, but mainly because he liked playing around with the features using his fingers as well as the ability to store lots of books on them. Books though– regular, paper books– trumped them all. Computers just annoyed him. They made too much noise when they tried to do things. He was annoyed by the clicking of the keys. He was annoyed by the whir that it made when it started up. And most of all, he hated the sound quality. He could not stand the fact that John's voice sounded like it was coming from an underwater room, perhaps made of a very echoey type of tin.

"You'll have found the TARDIS and disc by now, but I will bet anything that Clara noticed first."

Peter took a long look at John. His features were somewhat slack, but Peter suspected that it was merely a lack of sleep– the time stamp on the bottom read 4 am.

"However, if Clara noticed first and I'm right, you'll be watchin this after she barges into our house. You'll have found me already. So, if that's happened, keep on going– if not, that's spoilers. Just skip straight to two oh five."

Peter didn't touch the keys. He just sat there rigidly, waiting for the boy to speak again.

"You ought to expect some questions from everyone about this. I mean, it is kind of big. But I need you to trust me on this– not all the questions need answers. And I need you to do a few things after I go."

He'd planned it. John had planned out the whole damn thing and Peter hadn't even seen it.

"One." John said. "Family first. I'm not saying alienate friends– not by any means– but it's going to hit the hardest here. Two– make sure that you're not alone in the aftermath. I'm sure that you can find a few other people to help out."

"And I'm sure that you already have a few in mind." Peter murmured.

"Three. You may have noticed the Dalek missing; don't worry, I gave it to Clara in order to prove a point. Start up the Doctor game again! It's been dormant for a while, but it's a good way to connect everyone. However– the TARDIS. It's in your hands now."

John leaned into the camera. "Your turn to be the hero."

Then the image faded to black. Peter wanted to scream, but couldn't. He settled to tearing up a post–it note by the laptop. He focused all his amger onto the post–it note, rending and ripping until it was just pale yellow desk confetti.

Your turn to be the hero.

All right. Fine. I'll play hero for a while.

It's in your hands now.


	16. The Aftermath-How To Be A Hero

**A/N I am so sorry about the wait. Had to finish math preparations for school on Tuesday (freaking out, I'm starting a new one) But I wrote a chapter! Another one will pop up tomorrow with a nice, big, important plot development. Everyone should be Tuesday, updates will come leas often because school– I'm sure you all know how that goes. Thanks to hazman11 and Seleeene for the follows! GriffinGirl– I sense that you're concerned about John. His story is resolved nicely and– unlike in the original draft– without him dying. Yay! dark–thyme–lord– What's your theory? I'd love to hear it– you can pm me if you'd like. Also– this one is not as feelsy as the other ones. It's actually a bit nicer. And it proceeds to get nicer (with little splodges of feelsiness somewhere in the middle) up intil the very end, and then it's like the Ice Bucket Challenge. But with a lot of emotions instead. The next few chapters will be following the same general format– 1000 (plus or minus) words for Clara and 1000 (plus or minus) words for Peter. There will also be a paragraph or two near the end that will just keep changing every time. SO! Allons–y! Disclaimer: still not Moffat. Read and review?**

**Side note– Into the Dalek was pretty good, and I loved the Ninth reference that the Dalek made– mainly because I love the Ninth :3**

**Edit: SORRY SO SORRY MY IPOD IS A IDIOT REUPLOADING**

**The Aftermath**

Clara sat alone in her room, sniffling.

It had been barely a day since Incident Part Two. None of the Smiths had contacted her. Rose had taken her home last night after Clara had started to fall asleep in between sobs. Oswin had gone to her friend's house again; Clara was completely alone in the house.

She hugged her copy of Brightest Day to her chest. To be honest, she wasn't expecting Peter to give her updates this time. She wasn't expecting John to ever want to talk to her again if he got better. And to be completely, entirely honest, she wasn't expecting him to get better. Not completely, anyways– because there was always that piece of him that had fallen into Essex Creek on that cold September day almost a full year ago.

Was that why he couldnt take it? It was almost a full year. Almost time to move on, which he would never do.

Clara had no doubt that the other boys recieved discs as well. It was just the sort of guilty, half–thought out, Thirteen Reasons Why–esque thing John was likely to do. But instead of a hit list of people who caused it, it was instructions, which was also a very John thing to do. He was trying to be a bit more organized. Which meant he had planned it. Her stomach twisted as her mind wandered back to a thought from the night before– he was planning on getting out somehow throughout the time that she knew him. And there was nothing that she could have done to stop him because the gears were already in motion.

No. She could have done so many things.

She could have left when he was late at the coffee shop, the very first day.

She could have ignored Peter when he asked her to look up Amelia.

She could have left Melody alone.

She could have stopped bringing up Amelia. She knew that John wanted to leave her memories to rest.

She could have stayed out of it the first day.

She could have saved him on the last.

But it wasn't really the time now to reflect on what she could have done. Now, it was the time to try as hard as she could to make sure that she did everything she could.

First things first– Note, the day before, and disc analysis. She hadn't actually watched the disc the full way through; she would have to get through the entire thing this time. Which meant she had to get it back from Peter.

Peter wasn't that surprised when she appeared at the door around noon. "I need the disc back."

"Analysis?"

"Yeah."

"On it already."

Clara blinked; this was unexpected. "Really."

Peter beckoned her in and stepped aside from the door; Clara stepped inside. "We've been trying to make connections between the five discs."

"Five? What do you mean? How can there be five discs?" Clara moved towards the kitchen, spotting a corkboard haphazardly positioned on a kitchen chair. on it were small light blue sticky notes pinned together by string. David, Chris and Rose all sat at the table, muttering quietly. They looked up, a bit shocked, when Clara approached.

She swallowed. Peter walked up from behind her and rummaged on the table for her disc. He handed it to her, and she took it, sliding it into the overlarge pocket of her green jacket.

"Yours, mine, Chris' and David's, which also includes a note for Rose." Peter said, taking his seat. Clara pulled up a chair and sat. "He left nothing to Melody, which is surprising; and he also left nothing to Donna, or Martha, or Jack, or any of the others."

"Martha? Jack?" She queried.

"Right." David pointed a blue thing at her. "You don't know them. Other people. Other companions. Technically, my companions–"

"–But we won't judge." Chris said in a false–cheerful tone, taking the blue thing from his brother and flicking a switch near the end, making the top fly out. Clara's eyes followed it.

"What's that?"

"John's not the only one with a sonic screwdriver." Rose said with a slight smile. Yes– the green toothbrush John had when he was the Doctor.

No, Clara. He still is the Doctor. Its not the end of the month yet. It's the end of the month that he switches with someone else– Peter, probably because he had found the TARDIS in his room. The TARDIS. John had been planning to give up the Doctor to Peter when he was gone.

"Five discs. You said there were five discs."

Chris held up one in a dark purple casing. The silver letters on the front read AMELIA, and a few crushed violets sat near the edge of the disc.

"We haven't looked at it yet." David said quietly.

"I don't blame you."

"We're not planning on it either." Peter murmured. Clara agreed. It was one thing to agree to help each other work this all out– but it was another to trespass on the property of the dead, even if it hadn't been given to her while she was alive.

"Where did you find it?"

"In his room. Near where you found the note." Peter held out his hand, and Clara shook her head.

"Sorry, didn't bring it."

The tiny slip of paper suddenly felt heavier in her pocket. Remember the boy from gray September, and make certain he never returns. "What do you think it meant?" Peter asked, drawing his hand back. Clara shrugged.

"What was the message?"

Clara relayed it to the rest of them.

"Is September a town or something?" Rose asked, but David shook his head.

"Too literal for a poet. Besides, he never went outside of Neptune Creek. Even if there was a place called September, he wouldn't have know someone there."

"Who would name a town September anyways?" Chris muttered.

"There's a town called Christmas, but that's pretty far beside the point." Clara leaned forward on her elbows.

"Clara's right. That's not the question."

Rose threw her hands up. "What is the question?"

"This boy from gray September. He appears in four out of five discs and two notes. All of us have been warned off of this boy. The question is– who is he and how did he come to have this big of an impact on John's life?"

**How To Be A Hero**

Peter was right. Then again, Peter was usually right. And just because the situation had turned to a crisis, he didn't have to stop. He sat back as they all mulled over the question.

"I'd say he's a metaphor for something." Clara echoed his observation from the Incident.

"Yes, but a metaphor for what?"

Clara shrugged. "Search me."

David shrugged and Rose shifted in her chair, hand clasped around her elbow. Clara began to fiddle with the end of her purse. "All right, Eyebrows." She said abruptly, turning to Peter. "What's the game plan?"

Peter shook his head. "No game."

Chris frowned. "What?"

"Last time, we made a plan, and we thought that we played his game. But we didn't. We played our own."

He rose, shoving his chair back underthe table with a scraping sound. "He didn't want to be found. There is no game left to play."

Peter yanked the front door open, walking out to the backyard. Clara slowly got to her feet. "I'll just..."

She walked quickly out after him, spotting him on the back lawn, sitting down. She settled next to him.

"Hey."

His hand twitched slightly as a way of greeting. Clara took a slow breath.

"Peter, you can't push them away."

Her words surprised him, and he turned his head to her. "How am I pushing them away, Clara?"

She pretended to think. "Hm, let's see, you're sitting alone in the backyard while they're all in there trying to hold up after John nearly DIED, for the stars sake."

"They all want to save him in their own way. But Clara– can't you see it? He doesn't want to be saved." He stressed the last words and saw her face fall a bit. "I'm just...i'm just trying to help him any way that I can."

"Oh." Clara's voice was small.

For a moment, they were both silent, staring at the bubbling creek.

Peter kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, not looking at the girl beside him.

"Clara?"

"Peter?"

"Will you answer this honestly? I mean, honestly. Cold, and considered, without kindness or restraint."

Clara frowned a bit. "Okay.."

"Am I a good man?"

She turned to look at him, a mixture of confusion and wariness lining her face. "I...I don't know."

He sighed and stood. She couldn't tell him how to be a hreo either. "That's the thing. Neither do I."

Peter offered his hand to her. She accepted it and got to her feet as well.

"Back into the leviathan, then?"

He mock–shuddered. "I guess so."

Clara hesitated, then she was suddenly hugging him. He had absolutely no idea what to do. "Uh, Clara...I'm not really a hugging person."

"I am." Her voice was muffled by his shoulder.

"I'd gathered."

She kept hugging him. Peter just sort of stood there awkwardly, wondering what he should do. It ended (finally) and Clara looked up at him, smiling a bit. "You may not want to find him–"

"–but you still do." Peter finished.

"And I need your help to do it." Clara's eyes searched him for something he didn't have. "Please."

"Clara...we both know that I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just don't want to hurt him anymore. Can you respect that? Please?"

Clara sighed. "You really believe that he doesn't want to be found again."

"I do."

"Okay. Fine. What do we do then?"

"Haven't the foggiest. Let's go back there and figure it out."

"Good plan."

They walked back to the house together.

–

"Missy?"

The woman looked up from her book. "Yes, Tasha?"

"Remember that boy you helped bring in last night?"

"John Smith, yes."

"They think he's waking up. If he does, he might need restraints or assistance. Go down there?"

Missy slammed it shut. "Okay!" She ran past Tasha down the hall, tucking a few hairs behind her hear with one hand and checking her pocket for extra supplies as she went.

Slowly, she opened the door to the room of John Smith. She made her way around the bed, pulling open the window and checking vital signs. Her back was turned to him when she heard a low sigh.

Missy turned just as a set of pale green eyes flickered open and fixed on her.


	17. Paper Rain-The Autumn Girl

**A/N HALLOOOOO STONEHENGE! It is currently way too early to be awake AM, aaand...I'm postponing history outlining for this! Woohoo! Okay. *calms down a bit* Okay. Izwick– A female Master River Poppins, maybe? I'm kind of hoping she's the Rani because I like the Rani but at the same time a female Master would be kinda cool :). Guest: Thanks :3 and I shall! dark–thyme–lord: UGHHHHH SO FREAKING CLOSE BUT NO...SORRY. I'll tell you what, though– there's a pretty big hint in this chapter. And it does sort of indirectly have to do with death. So! Back to new chapter formatting– except this time, Peter's is first. IMPORTANT NOTE: I start school tomorrow (as I have mentioned before) so updates are going to be coming way slower than they have been over this glorious month and a half. DO NOT WORRY– I will not be abandoning this story, because I happen to really, REALLY like it. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who.**

**Paper Rain**

Peter was exhausted. It was two days post incident, and he hadn't slept at all.

Yesterday, Trenzalore had called and told him, in hushed and excited tones, that John had woken up. But today, they called again and reported that there was little to no activity. The patient was awake and fully capable, but was barely doing anything.

Melody had stopped by the day before as well, offering her condolences. Well, he thought she was offering her condolences– he didn't even bother opening the door to ask her. Peter justified it by thinking he was not pushing her away; John had already done that. Peter was just bringing the real group closer. But he knew that wasn't true. Her exclusion mainly was the result of her exclusion from the suicide note hit list. She was not there; neither would she be here.

It was around five AM when he decided that he just couldn't sleep anymore. He swung his legs over the bed and contemplated the kitchen. But instead, he walked into John's ajar door. It was the same mess he had surveyed about a hundred times over the past two days. But this early morning magic seemed to give it an edge he hadn't seen before. He began hunting for something, anything.

There was John's big book of poems in one stack. He left those alone. There were a few sketches; a crude lilac, outlined in charcoal; a rose, done in pale watercolor; both he had seen before, taped around his room. But the last was new; parts of the edges were mildly damp.

It was done in watercolor. A girl was sitting under a rainstorm, face tilted up to the water. Her hands were around her bent knees and in her hands were a spray of violets. Another was tucked behind her ear, the color beginning to bleed into the pale redness of her hair. Even so, it took Peter a moment to realize who it was

Picture Amy seemed happy, placid, content; Peter did remember that she always seemed happiest when it was raining. He never reallt understood it, but that'show whe was– Amelia was always a bit difficult to decipher. He usually had left that up to John. But even if they hadn't been as close as she was with his brother, Peter definitely still missed her just as much as John did– while his brother missed the real girl, Peter missed a friendship that he could have improved.

He set it down and suddenly he realized what he was doing. He should not be going through these papers. Why was he doing this?

Your turn to be the hero.

"But I don't know how, John." he muttered. "I don't know how to be the hero. I'm not the hero, I'm just one of the ones who was left behind."

"Isn't that what a hero is?"

Peter looked up quickly to see David leaning on the doorframe, dark eyes staring straight at Peter.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough. Seems like you had the same idea that I did. But what's this about heroism?"

"My disc. At the end of it, John sort–of told me why he left the TARDIS in my room." Peter explained the end of his disc while David began to rifle through the papers.

"So. He left you to be the Doctor. He actually thought abput that when he did it?"

"He left a specific message for us not to stop it." Peter shrugged. "Maybe he just wants us to all stay together. That's a pretty good way to make sure of it."

David was silent for a while. "Yeah."

"How's Rose been? Taking it well?"

"Pretty well. She knew everything before we did."

"How?"

"Clara. Apparently, she didn't go home immediately after she left." David let that sink in.

"They had a girl sob–fest–thing, didn't they."

"They indeed had a girl sob–fest–thing."

"And Clara told her everything."

"Yup." David popped the p.

"HEY." Chris shouted from the living room. "AM I THE ONLY ONE AWAKE? DID EVERYONE ELSE LEAVE OR SOMETHING? HELLO?"

David and Peter looked at each other as Chris railed on. "THE CAR'S STILL HERE, SO THE SCOTS ARE TOO. WHERE ARE YOU, THEN?"

"We ought to go out there before he wakes up the neighborhood." Peter said, standing.

"Yeah." David stood too, and Peter went into the hall, waiting for his brother who lingered on the threshold.

"This might sound a bit ridiculous," David said softly, "But I don't want to go."

–

**The Autumn Girl**

The wind's bite was getting stronger, and Clara tugged her coat around her more. Warmth, however, did nothing to ease her apprehension.

Not going to him. Going to Mom. Not going to him. Can't go to him. Shan't go to him.

There would be no point anyway– from what Peter had said, John was barely awake. He wouldn't say anything to the medics. He would probably be more hostile to her. And since that was very hard to imagine, she wanted to avoid making it into a memory. She was going to visit her mother instead.

Clara hadn't seen her mother in days– had it been a week? It had probably been a week. She needed to go; it was a moral imperative. Oswin had declined to come, choosing instead to work on stuff for school, which was only a few weeks away for her.

A eddy of red leaves twirled next to her. One caught on her foot, making her stumble a bit.

The school hadn't said anything about the art position; she assumed it had been taken. Back to the computer shop again, she supposed; that was all right. She had tried.

She arrived at Trenzalore. The receptionist recognized her– was it Tanya? No, Tasha. Like Tasha Yar. Was it bad that she had been in there enough times for the woman to remember her? Probably. But it was for a good cause.

Today, she was led directly up to her mother's room, which was surprising. He mother was usually in the atrium – courtyard area, clutching that daft old book and staring at the flowers and the clouds. Alice reported that sometimes she would point out shapes. Not today. Today, she was in the hospital room, Alice in a chair next to her, and the sky trying to pour in so the window. Her mother was reading aloud from the book. When Clara entered, her mother paused and tried to focus her eyes on her daughter.

"Am I interrupting?"

Alice smiled at Clara. "Not at all. Your mum's just been reading to me about a few places in America."

"Hi, mum." Clara half waved when it appeared that her mother was looking at her again

"Hello, Clara." Ellie's voice nearly broke. "Oh! I wanted to give you something. Alice? Could you go out for a minute?"

"Of course."

Clara smiled again, but this time it was a bit forced. "Mum, I didn't bring you anything–"

But her mother was already opening the book and looking through its pages. Clara was worried. Her mother hardly ever gave gifts. What was going on?

"Here." Ellie pulled something out of the pages of the book. It was a dark red pressed leaf, cracks evident around the entirety of the surface.

"Oh." Clara took it gingerly, unsure of what to say. Really– how do you respond to a leaf?

"The nurses told me that your friend is here. At Trenzalore." Ellie said softly. "And I figured you would be having some trouble holding on to things right now. I want to remind you where you're from."

"I'm from London." Clara said, still holding the leaf carefully. It felt like it might crumble in her fingers. Was it a London leaf or something?

"That's not what I mean." Ellie took a deep breath. "That leaf nearly made your father crash into a car when we were both twenty–six. Because of that leaf, We met, and fell in love. Without that leaf, there would be no you."

Clara took the leaf into both hands. "Thank you, Mum."

"You're welcome, Clara."

"Ellie?"

"Yes, Alice?"

"It's time for your medicine."

Clara rose from her chair. "I ought to go." She moved to the bed and gave her mother a hug, breathing in the old smell of cinnamon in her hair that had yet to be muffled by hospital stench. "Bye. Love you."

"Love you too, Clara."

She walked out quickly past Alice and through the door. She didn't even hesitate when she walked past emergency to the door. Clara kept her fingers tightly on the leaf and didn't release it until she got home. Oswin glanced up from her desk, gaze falling on the leaf in Clara's hand.

"Why'd you pick that up? It looks like it's about to die of old age."

Clara burst out laughing. Oswin looked at her quizzically. "What?"

Oswin trailed her as she made her way to her room, still laughingnd clutching the leaf to her chest.

"What? Clara, what is it? Did someone say something funny? Did I miss a funny thing?" Oswin asked, voice bordering on annoyed.

"Never mind, Os."

"But I want to knooooow, Clara." Oswin whined. Clara was still laughing when she shut the door.

–

"It would be nice if you would eat."

The boy's eyelids twitched. Missy continued, slightly more hopeful now that she knew that he was listening. "Seriously. If you did, I wouldn't have to sit here for twenty four hours just monitoring fluids and boring stuff like that. There are other people here, you know. You're not the only one."

John said nothing. This was not a new development. She didn't even know what his voice sounded like.

"You call out in your sleep sometimes. Did you know that?" His eyes flickered open and set on her. "I guess you didn't. The names change– mainly someone called Clara, but also Amelia. And from that, I'm guessing you're the same John Smith who saw Amy Pond drown."

His eyes shut again.

"Clara's still there, though."

One eye half opened. The other remained completely shut.

"Can't you just live for her?"

Both closed again, and he began to shift onto his side, facing toward the window and away from Missy. She sighed loudly, hoping he could still hear her. No use; he was asleep already. Or a very good faker.

She'd bet on the latter.


	18. To Boldly Go-The Cloud Named Victoria

**A/N WOW. This is actually very tough. My new school is fricking huge. Also, sorry about the quality of this chapter but I can't sleep and it's midnight(it was when I wrote this) and I've been a nervous wreck for days and ugh. Just lots of badness. Izwick- I'm trying to write her as a sort-of baddie trying to be good. You'll see later on. And I KNOW THE SOUL THING IS CREEPY plus she shows up in the Cyberman episode...maybe she's saving the souls then converting them or something? Thanks for the luck- fourth day and still need it :P. Dark-thyme-lord- it shall all become clear soon *waves hands mysteriously*. No but seriously. It all ends up mostly okay. ALSO GUESS WHAT COOL THING I met a person named Emma at school! Son-of-Whitebeard- ...thanks? Is seasonal good? Kind of lost :P. acciobowtie11- he sort of gets better. Sort of. And there will be more whouffle. Oh-kay! More plot development PLUS the addition of Mr. Danny Pink, who I kind of waited a while to add because I didn't know what kind of character he would be like (but in the scene with Clara and the headdesk he is literally me). NOTE: I ship he and Clara exclusively as a brotp. So they're not going to be relationshippy in this. Same chapter format as last time, Clara first. Disclaimer: I don't own DW OR Star Trek (where I got the first title from) Read and Review?**

**To Boldly Go**

Clara had almost forgotten about the art teacher position. Almost. It still kind of lurked at the corner of her mind, but had been pushed so far aside. Only four days post incident now- but when her eyed flew open to the ringing of the ancient home phone, she could pretend for a second that it was one of the Smith boys calling about some ridiculous adventure she had to come and see, or something had happened and they needed another perspective, or, in the very least, that it was all normal again.

But it wasn't normal again. It couldn't be normal again. And with a heavy sigh of resignation, she picked up the phone.

"Hallo?" she muttered, voice hoarse from sleep.

"Miss Oswald?"

"Speaking." It wasn't Peter or Chris. Maybe David? "Who's this?"

"Vice Principal Merry Gejelh, calling about the art teacher post you interviewed for a little while ago?"

Clara struggled to sit up. "Yes. YES. Sorry, Miss Gejelh."

"Just Merry, please. And congratulations, Miss Oswald- you have the position, if you accept it."

"Oh." Then it fully hit her, and suddenly she was wide awake- though she supposed a coffee would be nice..."Are there papers? Things I need to pick up from the school, curriculum, things like that?"

"The class only takes place second semester, so you'll have a bit of time to plan. The curriculum is available in the circulation office."

"Wonderful. I could come down today and pick it up then? Start making a class?"

"That would be fine. Congratulations!"

"Thanks again, er- Merry." Clara hung up and began to pull herself together.

She paused for a brief second, thinking about telling Peter.

"Not his business," she decided, and opened her door. "OSWIN!"

"THAT IS MY NAME."

"GUESS WHAT GUESS WHAT GUESS WHAT."

Oswin bounded into the hallway, coffee mug in hand. "Yeeees?"

"I GOT THE ART JOB!" Clara grinned widely at Oswin, who simply smiled in a sort of 'I told you so' way.

"I knew it."

Clara rolled her eyes.

"Of course you knew it, Os. You always do."

"Because I'm always right." Oswin furrowed her brow in mock confusion. "I thought that we had already determined this."

"Quiet, you. I'm driving out there in a few minutes. Think you'll be okay on your own for a little bit? I promise that it's not for long."

Oswin rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "No. Actually, I think that the world will just sort of stop when you're gone."

Clara huffed and took her keys from the front table. "Bye."

"Have fun!"

She got to the school just under twenty minutes later, taking her now slightly colder coffee out of the cupholder as she left the car.

Clara tentatively approached the door, testing the handle to see if it was open. The door opend slowly, and she walked in, pleased. A little more confident now, she began walking quickly, turning sharply on the hallway-

BAM. She collided with another person almost instantly. Papers flew and the coffee spilled, mainly down the front of her shirt. She shuddered.

"Hey!" The other person made a exasperated noise. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I'm so sorry. Here-" Clara began to help him pick up the papers and things. He glared at her.

"I swear, I didn't see you oh god I'm sorry I'm sorry."

"It's okay." The man grumbled. "It's my first day here, didn't really look where I was going."

"Your first day too?" Clara finished stacking the papers and turned to look at him. "It's my first day. I just got the job this morning. Clara Oswald, new art teacher."

"Danny Pink. Mathematics assistant." He grabbed the papers and helped her up.

"Sorry about your papers." She rubbed her arm nervously, brutally aware that there was still lukewarm coffee dripping down her leg and dress.

"Sorry about your coffee."

Clara looked at him now. He did look sincerely sorry, and she felt sort of bad- but then, she had an idea. "How about I pick up my papers and we can make it up?"

Danny frowned at her, clearly confused. Clara pressed on.

"My friend works down at the coffee shop. I could buy you a drink and you could buy me a replacement."

"Er...um...I've got some reading. In the math..area..thing...some other time." He was blushing a bit, and Clara's hopes fell a bit.

"Uh, okay. See you around then?"

"Yeah! Sure. Yes."

Visibly flustered, he walked off while Clara looked on. She shook her head and continued to circulation. After getting the papers, she ran to the bathroom, trying to get the coffee out of her dress with a napkin- when she heard noises from the next room over. Slowly, she opened the door and stepped into the hall,

In the next room, Danny Pink was thudding his head onto the desk. Repeatedly .

"You okay?" she whispered. He turned, startled.

"Clara?"

"Must be some pretty awful reading, then." she observed, smiling.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Probably longer than you would like."

"Oh."

"How about this. Here's my number-" she scribbled it down- "in case you change your mind."

She walked out of the building with a slightly giddy smile on her face. It felt like high school all over again, except this time, on the very first day, she had made a friend.

**A Cloud Named Victoria**

People, Peter decided, were tiring. Clouds were better. They didn't laugh at you, they didn't cry for you, they didn't tell you that you were wrong. They listened without reaction, and that was helpful.

The best place for cloud watching in Neptune Creek was probably Wolfe Point, all the way at the other end of town- Rose and Martha had brought them all there a few times. It was beautiful. But on a pretty day like today, there would be too many people and too few clouds. This hill had no name, but Peter liked anyways.

"Hello there, random cloud." he said to a random cloud. "No. Never mind. You need a name. How about Victoria? You look like a Victoria."

Victoria seemed to bob in agreement.

"Victoria, I don't like being in charge of things. I really don't. I mean, it sounds like a great deal, but you get so bored after a while." he nudged a branch with his toe. "And it's hard to be in charge when I just kind of want to sit here, you know...talking to a cloud. Well, a cloud named Victoria."

Peter smiled. "Victoria. It's a pretty name. I once knew a girl named Victoria. She was in my grade, oh, and everyone was in love with her. Smart, funny, had eyes that any of the other girls would kill for- and she was so real. Like, she was different from everyone else there, stuck in their little teenage fantasies. Even me." he laughed a bit, reflecting. "I had this huge fantastical dream that I would ask her out on Valentine's Day, senior year. Do you know what happened? I mentioned the smart, right? She graduated early, headed right out of Neptune Creek like she couldn't wait to leave. It probably wasn't enough for her."

Peter stared up at Victoria the cloud. "Funny," he said softly, "I never told anyone that story. You're the first, Other Victoria. Actually, I've barely thought about it since then. It never seemed important enough."

Victoria the cloud (understandably) said nothing.

"But I did miss her. I missed her so much. But I guess it's the same situation as now, isn't it? Trying to decide if you're beautiful or just a bit too far away."

He sighed and shifted a bit, looking down at his hands. David was off somewhere with Rose, probably; Chris would be in his room, doing who knows what.

"I don't really know what they're doing. Is that pushing them away? Both Clara and John told me not to push others away. I guess they could both see this happening. But it seems so much easier looking at it from twenty miles out. It's easier to talk, easier to answer questions. Then I get there...oh, Victoria, I break down every time. I just cannot do it."

He peered at his vaporous friend.

"You were a good listener, I'll give you that, but I'm docking points for participation. Got anything to say to that? No? Didn't think you would. Nice talk, Victoria."

Peter stood, brushing himself off, and looked up at the cloud Victoria, who was slowly breaking apart. "Do this again sometime?" he asked softly, but she was already gone. Victoria had spent her whole life listening to him, and now she was ready to help other clouds create thenselves. His friend was definitely a role model cloud.

Peter headed off towards home, feeling lighter than air. But with every step he took, he got heavier again.

Was this why John wanted to leave-because coming back to reality from pure poetry was always so painful?

Missy was very surprised. It had been over three days now, and the elusive Clara had not come by.

He still called for her sometimes, but only in his sleep. His brother had visited, but John still didn't speak; he barely moved a muscle. Missy wasn't sure how he did that; she would never be able to stay still that long.

He was sleeping now; she could hear him, but there was nothing happening, so she had a book out and was checking his signs every few pages.

"Please...I had to, you had to see that...Clara..."

Missy looked up. His hands were clenching into fists, grasping at the bedsheets. She stood.

"Don't..Clara, please..."

She ran over to the side of the bed. Heart rate was insane. Anger? No. Fear? Maybe.

Her hand brushed his as she checked to make sure he hadn't ripped out a IV or anything- and then his hand was holding hers tightly.

"Clara, why can't you stay?"

Missy's breath hitched.

"I can stay." She murmured. "But I'm not her."

"Clara..." John whispered. "Please don't leave. Please don't leave just yet."

Missy swallowed. "She...er, I...won't."

And she didn't leave him until his hand fell slack in hers, when her shift was already over by an hour. That was when she finally picked up her book and slipped out the door.


	19. Things To Be Hoped For

**A/N Hello! Ok, team meeting. Huddle up, guys. *whispers* In the last author note, I mentioned that I dislike Clara and Danny as a couple but like them as a friendship. SO! In this fic, he's just going to be Clara's friend, because she does need one who isn't mixed in with all the Smith stuff. In other words- WHAT TEAM? WHOUFFLE! WHAT TEAM?! WHOUFFLE! WHAT TEAM?! WHOUFFLE! GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME! Guest- thanks :) as the team chant probably shows, whouffle shall triumph- that being said, I'm trying to do as little as possible right now because in my mind Clara- who loves order- would kind of get used to the routine of him not being there and her missing him. She's kind of scared to break that because it would probably break her. That being said, today she visits him for the first time...and other stuff happens. believeinangel, that last sentence applies to part of yours, too. AND IKR WHO THE HELL IS MISSY AND THE PROMISED LAND UGH WHY MOFFAT. acciobowtie11- I made your day? Dude, you followed/favorited the story and me, AND you reviewed. I was having trouble coming down from cloud nine. dark-thyme-lord: omigods but what it is wasssssss- is there a girl with a TARDIS backpack and a penchant for doodling in your class :P Son-of-whitebeard-yess. SO! WEIRD FORMAT! This one is going to be ALL Clara and the Missy paragraph near the end, and the next one is going to be ALL Peter (hopefully up by this weekend). The titles (in case you were wondering): Things To Be Hoped For/ Play The Game. Still don't own. Read and review?**

**Things To Be Hoped For**

Clara opened her eyes, and everything was blurry. Had she been crying? She didn't think she had been crying. She didn't remember crying at all.

The world slowly swam into focus around her. She didn't recognize the room immediately; the ceiling was tall and domed, and a bright blue light was emanating from somewhere to her far right. Circular pulsing things lined the walls, and she suddenly remembered.

It was the TARDIS closet. Right?

She began to sit up, but it hurt a bit too much, so she settled for relaxing for a second and then pulling herself up using the desk. But...it wasn't a desk any longer. The console had been altered, with a large control panel hexagon instead of the cluttered work desk.

A door opened at the far end of the room, but she didn't turn around. "Peter, what happened to the TARDIS?"

"What?"

She frowned. The voice didn't sound like Peter's. "I mean, you've redecorated. I don't like i..." Clara had turned, but froze almost the second she did so.

There was John, in all his purple–waistcoat–and–bow–tie glory, holding a vial of something violently pink in one hand with a confused expression on his face.

"You're better." It was more of a plaintative statement, like how dare you get better and I wasn't there. Clara could only stare, mouth open. "Well, that makes this stuff useless." He gestured a bit angrily at the pink vial. "Unless you want it, of course. It's a bit like space Pepto–Bismol, if you're still feeling ill."

Clara said nothing.

John tilted his head at her and set the vial on a step. "Clara, are you okay?"

"John?" she asked him. Her voice nearly broke.

John's eyebrows furrowed, and he slowly shook his head. "Doctor."

"I don't need a doctor. I just need to know–" she stepped forward and reached out as if to touch his face, hesitating at the last second. "I need to know that it's you."

He closed his hand around hers, eyes still wide with worry. "It's still me. Clara. Who else would it be?"

She lost her control over herself and tackled him in a remarkable bear hug for a five foot two girl. But that's when she finally noticed.

Clara pulled herself off. "Two heartbeats."

"Yeah. We went over this, didn't we?"

"No..."

He huffed and rolled his eyes, leaning against the console. "I am the Doctor. Time travelling alien from the planet Gallifrey. Two hearts. And twenty seven brains."

He grinned at her like there was an inside joke there, but she just continued to stare blankly at him. The smile slid off his face.

"But I saw you." she whispered. "I saw you unconscious and we had to take you to the hospital and we've been trying so hard not to play your game-"

"Clara," John-who-was-not-John interrupted, "I was never unconscious."

Clara stared at him, fear and relief washing over her. "Oh." she murmured. "You're not him at all, then. You're not John."

"And I never claimed to be." the Doctor said, a bit irritated, but more bemused.

"So...you're actually the Doctor, then. The Last of the Time Lords."

"Yep." he spun around the console in a very John-like way that made her heart hurt. "And you are Clara Oswald, Impossible Girl and almost certified wackadoodle."

"Doctor?" Clara settled on one of the silver steps in the corner of the TARDIS, a tiny idea forming in her brain. The Doctor came and sat beside her. "There's something I really need answered."

"Shoot." His pale green eyes focused on hers, but she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact.

"Let's assume that in some other alternate universe, there's another version of you."

On Clara went, until she had told the whole story in what seemed like no time at all.

The alien who looked like John looked at his hands. "So he's dying, no regeneration and a very small chance of escape."

"And do you know anything that could help him? Since you are the same, technically."

The Doctor was silent for a moment, and then all of a sudden he got up and walked to the console again. "I think I know."

"Can you tell me?" Clara rushed to him. "Please. I need to help him somehow."

The Doctor sighed, hand on a lever. "If I were in his position," he said slowly, almost inaudibly, "I would want to know that you were still with me. That the boy from gray September hadn't caught up to you too. If we are truly the same person, he'd want to see you again."

He pulled the lever, and a loud huffy noise began sounding. The TARDIS jolted suddenly.

"The boy from gray September- how do you know about that? I still haven't figured it out what it means!"

The Doctor peered around the corner of the console. "You haven't?" he asked, surprised. "Then how have I?" Clara opened her mouth to answer, but the TARDIS shuddered again, knocking the wind from her lungs.

"Where are we going?" Clara choked out.

"You're dreaming, Clara." The Doctor pushed open the TARDIS doors. "I'm dropping you back into your conscious."

"But if I wake up, you...you're a dream. So you'll fade, and I'll lose both of you."

"Not really. Dreams never die, not even when we're awake. I'll just be a story in the back of your head. And that's okay- we're all stories in the end."

He kissed her forehead, and for a moment, she convinced herself that he was John, vibrant and awkward and so alive.

"And even if his childhood story isn't there," the Doctor whispered, leading her to the door, "he still is."

His hand tightened around hers. "Ready, then?"

"Geronimo."

They jumped togeher, and the last thing she saw before plunging into something ice-cold below her was his pale green eyes.

And she woke up, gasping for air.

* * *

"My name's Clara Oswald. I came in with Peter and John Smith a little while ago?" Clara adjusted her purse strap nervously. Tasha continued typing.

"Oh-kay. Do you want to visit now? His attending nurse says that he's just waking up."

Clara's stomach twisted and she nodded sharply.

"All right." Tasha pressed a button and the doors swung open. "Go on in."

Clara swallowed and began down the hall.

It was an eternity of white and blue. Clara could feel her heart pounding. There was muffled chatter, all around her, but she couldn't hear a specific single sound in the noise.

The place was too white. Too white and too clean and too sharply colored- everything was an angle.

She reached the door and halfheartedly pushed it. It opened easily, and she remembered his words. It's just one step.

Clara stared at the edge of the threshold. One single step. Did she have the courage to take it?

That was the day he kissed her.

She took the step, and another, and another, until she was well inside the room and could see beyond the predictably sterile-looking white curtain.

Clara was only a few feet away from the cot-like hospital bed thing. Her breath hitched.

"John."

His eyes half flickered open. They lazily focused on her, and then they suddenly were wide.

She wasn't sure if she was smiling or grimacing. "You're okay."

John closed his eyes again. Clara was concerned until she saw the slight smile tugging at his lips.

"You came back." he said. And it was his voice that finally broke her.

"Of course I came back." she said through sniffles. "I'll always come back."

He said nothing, just smiled that sort-of secret smile that she always loved.

"I came to say I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." he paused, and then echoed her statement from their second adventure day. "Out of curiosity, what are you apologizing for? The questions, or the egomania moments, or-"

"I am not an egomaniac."

"Not really impotant." he said, peeking at her with one eye.

"Nothing's more important than my egomania!"

"Right, you just said that..."

Clara laugh-sobbed, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. He looked surprised at the gesture. "My point is, I'm sorry for all of the above."

"Thank you."

"Plan on getting better anytime soon?"

"Oh, Clara. You can't get rid of me that easily."

She swiped angrily at her tears with her free hand.

"It's okay, you know."

"What?"

"Crying. I never really got the point of making tears seem weak. If you need to cry, then cry. No shame in it." he moved in a way that she supposed was sluggish shrugging. "It's just emotional eye lubrication."

"You sound like a doctor."

"I was THE Doctor."

She smiled now, remembering the man in her dream. "And you always will be."

"Are you going to stay?"

The question caught her off guard. "What?"

"You stayed for a while last time, and..." he yawned. "And I think I'm drowsing..er,driftsing...never mind, there's a faul..."

He fell asleep.

Clara didn't know what to do- he was still holding her hand.

She slowly began to loosen both of their grips at the same time, using both hands. The door creaked open and a woman in a lab coat walked in. The woman froze as her piercing blue eyes settled on Clara.

"Who are you?" she said.

"Clara Oswald. Tasha checked me in a few minutes ago, he and I talked for a bit. I'm going now, don't worry. Are you his doctor?"

"Er, nurse. My name's Missy. You're Clara?"

"Yeah. His brother and I brought him in on the day of the incident."

"You said he..talked to you?" Missy scribbled something on her clipboard, eyes bright. Clara had finally pried her hand out.

"Missy- I had a question. And I really want you to answer this honestly."

Missy looked up from her notes. "Hm?"

"Is he going to be okay?"

Her pleading eyes bored into Missy's cold ones until the other woman gave in. "We gave the full briefing to his brother; you should find the answer you're looking for somewhere in there."

"That's not an answer."

Missy sighed. "The answer can't be found until it happens, Miss Oswald."

Clara sighed; it was worth a shot. "Okay."

And with that, she walked out of Trenzalore. She was proud of herself: she made it all the way to the car without breaking down.

**Next up- Play The Game, all in Peter's POV. Probably will come out on Sat or Sun. Sorry for the long A/N.**


	20. Play The Game

**A/N HIHIHI UPDATE! Also- FIFTY. REVIEWS. Y'all are amazing. *hugs everyone* What were your opinions on Listen? I loved it- up until the awkward part with Danny at the end. Like, "You insulted me multiple times, but I'm over it now. I'll just kiss you." "You got mad at me because I can't tell you that I time travel and I'm mad that you insulted me, but that's all right. Pucker up." Just….no. Sorry. I had issues with that part. BUT LITTLE THETA WAS SO SAD AND CUTE AND NEEDS A BLANKET AND A HUG AND I JUST CANNOT EVEN. acciobowtie11- *whispers* the Doctor was just kind of a dream Clara had to convince herself that distance is bad. Apologies. GriffinGirl- yup, John is real. But the Doctor was a pretty good plot device :). Son-of-Whitebeard- definitely. dark-thyme-lord- IKR! Ok, maybe that's because I'm bad at writing for her. Maybe. believe-in-angel- There will be a few more moments like that, but a bit more spread out. Izwick- that's ok. You don't have to make a huge ship commitment :P OK! Next chapter, the Search for Gray September begins, meaning- you guessed it- weird format. The POVs will rotate through David, Rose, Chris, Clara, and Peter (not necessarily in that order) with the Missy/John paragraph at the end of each until we reach the end of the story. 'Kay? 'Kay. I don't own. Read and review?**

**Without further ado….**

**Play the Game**

Peter rubbed his eyes and tried to keep reading. This is important, he told himself. I've got to finish this. He was halfway through the sixty page report; thirty more pages wouldn't be too bad, right? But it was midnight, and he was falling asleep- he didn't mind so much though. He yawned again. His eyes were tired, but he didn't even care.

The TARDIS closet door creaked a bit, and Chris cautiously came through. "I beamed up, Scotty. Is that okay?"

"If you're still awake, you can help with this." Peter hefted the thirty remaining pages. "Read this, and I can just–"

"Sleep? You can't sleep in here."

Peter's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why not?"

Chris scoffed. "I can see where you're coming from, what with the mood lighting and all that going on–"

"It's not mood lighting."

His brother kept going. "But you have a bed. And a room. And a bed room."

"A whole room for not being awake in? A spaceship is better than that."

"Peter. You're tired."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Excellent observation. In other news, the sky is blue.

"Not right now." Chris said. "Now, the sky is black, and you should be asleep. In fact, you should have been asleep a few hours ago."

Peter waved the aforementioned sheaf around. "They sent me this at eleven thirty."

"You oughtn't have been awake at eleven thirty." admonished Chris.

"Well, what were you doing at eleven thirty, Mum?"

"I was reading." Chris said shamelessly.

Hypocrite, Peter thought. No, wait- hypochris. "As was I. Now shut up if you're not going to help. I need to focus." It came out harsher than Peter had intended, and he winced.

Chris gazed down at him, and Peter was struck by how intimidating his brother was. Sharp angles everywhere you looked with Chris. Had his brother always looked this way? Was Peter only just noticing?

"You need to sleep." Chris decided, snatching the papers from Peter's fingers. Peter mumbled a protest and tried to snatch it back, but Chris held it above Peter's head. "Go on now. Shoo. Go to your room. Or is the big bad Scot afraid of the dark?"

"Mnemnh." Peter pushed himself to his feet, and a wave of exhaustion rolled over him. He was tempted to fall back into the seat, but Chris grabbed his shoulder and propelled him to the door.

"Easy does it." They went through the closet and into the room. Peter got onto his bed on his own.

"Good night, brother mine. See you in the morning." Chris looked over his shoulder once, then left the room, papers clutched in his hand.

Peter was unsure of how long it took him to fall asleep, but once he did, everything slid away. And he didn't wake up until the darkness left again.

* * *

"I need the papers."

Chris rolled over, bleary eyes and half asleep, to see Peter standing in his door. "Hm?"

"John's medical record. I need it."

"Yes. Right. Come along, then."

Chris stumbled to his feet- Peter didn't help- and into the TARDIS closet, Peter following briskly behind. He grimaced at the orange-blue and coral theme of his brother's spaceship.

"Eurgh. Why does yours have to be so... grunge?"

"Oi! Yours looks like a tube of toothpaste gone wrong!" Chris picked up the papers from where they rested against a lever. "Here. All in order, none missing."

"Thanks."

Peter had barely gotten to his room when he noticed his phone buzzing.

"Clara, it's seven AM."

"And you're awake. So I was right. Listen, the hospital said that you have John's medical record from the past few days."

"I do-why were you at the hospital?"

"I didn't want to visit him but then I did and he missed me as much as I missed him and i cried and now I need to play the game so I need those records." she said, words rushed. "Rose and I are on our way now."

"Rose is with you too?"

"Hi, Peter." Rose's voice was soft over the phone.

"David will go ballistic." Peter muttered. "Is this a full blown Team Johnny Boy meeting?"

Clara sighed. "That would be lovely. Twenty minutes- round the rest up, please."

"Clara-"

"Peter, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm scared to death of what those sheets say, and I really don't want to argue about this right now so just this once please do as you're told." she said, exasperated. Then she hung up.

Peter stared at the phone in mild disbelief.

"DAVID CHRIS WAKE UP COMPANY IN TWENTY MINUTES." he hollered.

Almost immediately, David yelled back. "PETER WILLIAM SMITH IT IS SEVEN O CLOCK SAVE THE YELLING FOR SEVEN THIRTY PLEASE."

Peter rolled his eyes and added, "ROSE IS COMING."

Under thirty seconds later, David stuck his head through the doorway. His confused eyes peered out of a veritable jungle of spiky bedhead. "What."

"Rose and Clara are on their way. Go on! Get ready!"

David bolted off. Chris was probably getting ready in his own room. Peter sighed and busied himself woth finishing the papers.

And as he kept going, the pent-up urge to scream nearly became uncontrollable, but he managed.

Then he hit the last page, and grabbed a pillow from his bed.

Nobody outside the room heard a thing.

The table was silent as Clara scanned the report. Peter had never seen her eyes flicker that fast- they were almost hidden by her brows, which were drawn so far together that they could have been one continuous line. But he knew exactly why.

"He's getting worse." She murmured, tracing her finger across a set of numbers.

"How?" Rose asked, biting her nail.

Clara looked up, eyes bright and troubled. "The compound he took should have been toxic. He would have died if we hadn't found him right when we did. And now-"

"He wasn't eating or drinking ir doing anything to try and flush it out of his system. It's still killing him, no matter what they do." Peter concluded.

"Apparently he's on some sort of megadrugs just to keep is heart beating at this point..." Clara's voice began to break. "Oh my god."

She began sobbing. Rose comforted her while Peter reclaimed the papers, visibly disturbed. He was never sure how to help in these situations. Doubly so since he felt the same.

"Clara, you said something earlier about playing the game." Peter interrupted.

"Playing the game? Like what he left behind?" Chris asked.

Clara nodded, tears still flowing. "I think that's what he wants us to do. Unravel the thread, find the X. There's something hidden in all of this and he's trying to lead us there."

"With videos. And notes left at midnight. And this." She drew out a slip of paper. The others all crowded around to look, but Peter already knew what it said. He drew the identical slip from his pocket.

"The boy from gray September. It's a common thread in all of our notes. And I know that it's what he wants us to find."

"Or avoid," David pointed to the slip. "Make sure he never returns sounds ominous. So he doesn't want us to meet this person or thing or whatever it ends up being."

"But don't you get it? This is how we save him. We play the game. We show him we understand."

Clara turned pleading eyes on Peter. "I know you're against this. You made that clear the first day. But you've got to believe me."

"Do you realize how long you've known him?" Peter said sharply.

The question took Clara by surprise. "What?"

"Under a month. I've known him his whole life. Clara, I can't trust you on this when you have next to nothing that you're going off."

"We've been doing it your way for two weeks. He's still dying and we've accomplished nothing. Please. Just give it a chance. Give him a chance. He needs it right now."

Everyone was silent.

"Peter said you visited him." Chris said.

Clara didn't take her eyes off Peter. "I did."

"Yesterday?"

"Yesterday."

Chris took the papers from Peter. "It says that yesterday he accepted water and allegedly spoke for the first time post incident."

Clara continued to stare at Peter, who began shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"I played that game." Clara said. "And I won. I can win this one too."

He turned to her. "You can't just win a life, Clara."

"You haven't seen me play."

Yes I have, he wanted to say. I have seen you play. I saw you unravel Amelia and stay anyways. I saw you completely ignore me and unravel John as well. And now you think you can just play the game again and bring him back?

And then he realized that wasn't what she had said.

She wanted to play John's game, not her own. She was going to save him only with what he gave her.

She wasn't going to win her game again; she was going to win John's. And she could do it; he saw it in her eyes.

He sighed.

"Fine." It was almost inaudible.

"Sorry?" Rose asked.

"FINE. Clara's right." A huge grin morphed Clara's face into a strange, teary, happy mess.

"We'll need to pool everything he gave us. The search for gray September is on."

David smiled, a big, genuine smile that Peter hadn't seen in a while. "Allons-y!"

Peter stood, refusing to make eye contact with Clara. "Allons-y, indeed."

He walked from the room. "Allon-friggin-s-y."

**A/N props to you if you get where the chapter title actually** **came from. :)**


	21. The Search For Gray September: Strangers

**A/N HALLO! If you're wondering why this is an irregular update...um. Only good answer I can come up with is 'not the most fantastic week and writing makes me feel better.' Izwick- YES YOU GOT IT YAY! Tbh, I love Queen and the song in the first draft of the fiftieth AU was nearly Good Old Fashioned Loverboy. Also-to you and dark-thyme-lord- the hypochris pun was literally last second because I was half asleep. Guest-Thanks :). Son-of-Whitebeard- sorry, no idea what Toymaker is. GriffinGirl- Hm, how does Clara play this game? Probably fiercer...love is a much more vicious motivator. acciobowtie11- one of them has already found the boy from gray September. They just don't know it yet- mainly because nobody knows where to look. *cackles* Ahem. This chapter is mostly Stormwolf being Stormwolf and then a John paragraph near the end. Still don't own. Read and review? The Search, my dear readers, is ON!**

Also- apologies for mistakes, but my sort of beta Milo is out of town :(

The Search For Gray September: Strangers

David

When his eyes opened, they were met by several small lights. He blinked a few times, and the image focused- and then he realized. They were stars. Star fairy lights.

He swore softly under his breath. It had happened again. And indeed, when he looked next to him, there was Rose, lips curling upwards slightly in her sleep.

David propped himself up and turned to see the clock on Rose's bedside table. Five in the sodding morning. Nobody would be awake, he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, and he couldn't leave. Rose had given him hell the one time he left for work after this.

He had been forgetting to go home more and more lately. This was the third time it had happened this week.

Beside him, Rose shifted a bit, face tilting to the sky. David smiled a bit. Oh, but it was worth it for this. For her.

He stood, making sure that he still had all his clothes on- good. Very slowly, taking care not to wake her, David stood and made for the living room.

Rose's house was so much different than his. He hummed a bit to himself as his fingers skimmed along the bookshelf, tapping over spines until be selected one. Where at the Smith residence, there would be someone's jacket on the table, books resting everywhere one could put them, and a general sense of mess- Rose had her books tucked safely on the two bookcases in her living room. Her jackets were in the closet or laundry. And her lights...her lights were magic.

David flipped the switch to the living room, and couldn't help grinning to himself as a few feet above his head, a full string of star fairy lights flickered on, bathing the room in a pale yellow glow.

She had gotten the idea a few years back- why use ceiling fixtures when you could use fairy lights? Inexpensive and beautiful, they lit most of her home now. Rose lived alone, which meant that she could do what she wanted to her house. David often wondered what that would be like. He was often bored or scared alone; his job wouldn't support him anyways. Rose worked two- her local one at the coffee shop, and another that wasn't very local at all: she wrote editorial sections for a few newspapers around the area-out of Neptune Creek, obviously-occasionally an article or two for these same ones if she had a particularly strong opinion. Rose was what John could have become if he had actually chosen his gift to his focus; an author, and a fine one at that. But where Rose worked more in facts and opinion on them, John worked in the verses of starry-eyed dreamers; he was a poet, and she was a journalist. Different worlds with a bridge of words.

David settled in the dark violet couch next to one of the bookcases and opened the book to page one.

Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour. And finally, at seven o' clock, a soft yawning noise came from her room. Rose padded out, eyes still half closed. She yawned again, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Hallo, sleepyhead." David peeked up from the book and then looked back at the page, but he wasn't reading anymore. She always had that sort of effect on him.

"How long have you been up?" she leaned against the doorway and blinked a couple of times.

"Couple hours." he admitted. Rose could always tell when he was lying.

She nodded at the book in his hands. "Which one?"

"Er, Airborn. Haven't read it before."

"Airborn? At seven in the morning?"

David shrugged. "I started at five," he said unconcernedly; and Rose narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

"You didn't go home again last night."

"You're right. I didn't."

"Not that I'm complaining- believe me, I'm fine with it-" David smirked and set the book to the side. "why didn't you?"

The smile disappeared, and David wondered about that. He supposed he could have gone back- he wasn't drunk, and his car hadn't broken- so why did he stay?  
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a very small voice whispered because you're afraid. You're afraid of your demons there when you return. You're scared of the monsters under the bed at night, and you're so scared that he's not coming back and they'll just get stronger.

"Because monsters are afraid of starlight." he murmured, and noticed Rose sitting beside him in his peripheral vision.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're the poet." David didn't respond, and she placed a hand on his arm. "I'll listen if there's something you have to say, okay?"

"What's to be said?" he asked, voice empty.

"You can't just keep all your negative emotions pent up."

"It's worked absolutely fine for the past few years." He stated in that same hollow tone.

They were both silent for a few seconds, and then-  
"Do you believe in her?"

David turned to Rose, startled. "What?"

Her hazel eyes were dark and serious. "Do you believe in Clara Oswald?"

"I...I guess I don't know."

"Well, I do." Rose said, stronger than before. "I know that she can save something in him. I know that she can do it."

"We're all searching, though. We'll all be doing it too-" he trailed off when he saw Rose shaking her head.

"He trusted her more than anyone else pre- Incident. He tried to love her, and she tried to love him back, but it was too late."

"How do you know?"

Rose shrugged. "Who do you think she ran to when you lot essentially kicked her out?"

David was affronted. "We didn't kick her-"

"She felt unwelcome. That was enough." Rose said sternly.

"Oh." he was unsure of what else to say. She took his hand.

"My point is- if any one of us is going to find the boy from gray September, it's her. The rest of us are practically strangers to him."

He was silent. She squeezed his hand, and he looked at her. "Can we not talk about this today?"

Not think about the fact that a petite Northerner knew more about his brother than he did? Not think about the cold, pristine hospital prison John was locked up in? Not think about the demons that would begin to turn their heads the second he set foot in the doorway?

Not to think about that would be the second best blessing on this starlit morning.

Rose was the best.

He kissed her then, and when they broke apart he could feel her smile against his lips. Her hazel eyes glowed in the light.

"Not talking about it," he whispered,kissing her again, "would be fantastic."

"Mm."

"Should I go make some tea?" he suggested.

"That'd be lovely- and I can go put some half decent clothes on." she giggled a bit. David gave her a once over and smiled.

"But you look all pink and yellowish! It's nice!"

"You're my boyfriend. You're required to say that." she rolled her eyes. "Besides, it's cold. Pants weather!"

"Pants are stupid." David grumbled over the pot he was filling with water.

"We all know that you'd traipse around in nothing but your underwear if you could." Rose called from her bedroom. "But you can't."

"I can when I'm alone!"

"You did it to me that one time!"

"You're my other half, so I'm still technically alone."

A few minutes later, Rose emerged, fully dressed. "Love you too." she said,kissing him on the cheek. "What kind of tea?" she opened the cabinet and pushed aside a couple of bowls to find the tea.

And it felt so wonderfully normal again that he had to resist the urge to start grinning like a madman. Sonehow, with her, everything was right again.

Alternatively: somehow, away from the monsters in the night, everything was right again.

"Green, if you've got."

"I always do."

"I know."

* * *

The room was very dark, and he was just coming to.

Where was the bookshelf? The cluster of papers at the base? What was this...inferior cannula doing in his nose?

Oh. Right. Hospital.

Every time John woke up, this had been awhile now, and he was used to it.

It had been a while.

it. had. been. a. while.

Wait.

No.

Was there something going on? He wasn't supposed to be here this long. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain pushed him back down again.

Had several days passed since Clara came? He wasn't sure. But somehow his fingers still tingled with the warmth of hers. Had the others come by? Perhaps. He couldn't remember. Currently, his memory was drowning in some sort of bluish-green liquid that was currently pumping through his veins...

There was something going on. Because when he planned the Incident, he had taken tremendous precaution. He had calculated everything out- if whoever found him hadn't when they did he would have died about an hour later. However, it was possible to recover even at that point. Possible to quickly recuperate.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

So why wasn't he happy about it? Wasn't this his end goal?

A wave of tiredness began to over take him, but he fought to stay awake and answer. The door clicked open at the other end of the room, but John Smith was already asleep.

* * *

Small note- there may be another chapter up later on this week(end). Thanks to everyone!


	22. The Search For Gray September: Bluebell

**A/N SIXTY?! *faints* ok. So. after reading the content of these sixty wonderful reviews, I feel the need to clarify a few things that have been confused. By many people. Multiple times. aHEM.**

**1. C'est not sabote. Sorry, but I don't do sabotage in stories. Not really my thing. What is actually happening: Nobody told John what was happening on the medical reports from Play The Game. Stranger was the first time that he was fully conscious– before that it was kind of an in–and–out dreamstate. **

**2. Missy isn't the actual 'nurse'. She's more of a student observer studying how to BE a nurse as well as– surprise– psychology, which is why she requested a suicide case. (the actual nurse and doctors there aren't really important so they don't get names)**

**GriffinGirl– omigosh thank you :3 dark–thyme–lord– SHHHH SPOILERS YOU'RE NOT S'POSED TO KNOW THAT. Izwick– a) YESS The books are literally one of the best series EVER, but I can't stand how the Matt/Kate romance arc is so...jealousy laden. It takes away from the rest. b) awwwww thanks :) c) he does. Even the Doctor needs hugs. d) I don't blame you. Alphabet lists are fun! acciobowtie11: Oooh theories! I love theories! okokok what's yours? BowtiesSouffles– YAY I HAVE CONVERTED ANOTHER! ScarkitTheMakaNedo– I refer you to point one. :) Son Of Whitebeard– oh, ok. Sorry. When you said 'Toymaker' literally the only thing I could think of was that one guy in the Legend of Holly Claus. APOLOGIES FOR THAT RIDICULOUSLY LONG NOTE– ON WITH THE SEARCH! Still don't own. Read and review?**

**The Search for Gray September– Bluebell**

**Chris**

He had always loved silence and rain, but not necessarily in that order.

Why? Rain itself entails the breaking of silence. Therefore, if one was to love silence first, then rain would be such a constant annoyance that any person capable of rational thought would go completely bonkers. Since Chris didn't consider himself totally insane, it was safe to assume that rain prevailed over silence. And that was true– it had been for as long as he could remember. So it made perfect sense that if he wanted to escape some of the silence, he would turn to rain for comfort.

It was getting dark now; very cold and very wet but he couldn't care less.

Chris adjusted his shoulders, settling in more to the rain–splattered wood. Gallifrey Landing was getting wetter by the second, but there wasn't any thunder so he had no plans to go down. He wasn't sure when he had started loving rain; it was sort of a gradual appreciation, not a single set event. For instance, his first ever kiss had been in the rain one day in October. Chris couldn't remember it very clearly, but somewhere deep in his brain her lips were still against his and when she turned around and left for the night the rain was still running down his face, rivulets curving around the bemused smile that she had left behind. He didn't even remember her name.

He remembered, though, that two weeks later they had broken up and not talked again. That was okay; he hadn't really cared about the relationship at that point. At least, he hadn't showed that he cared. It was one of his superpowers– building a shield. Sometimes, he forgot to take it down; for instance, now, when he was alone, he still hadn't begun crying, no matter how much he wanted to. It was almost as if the shield had turned from a string of reinforcements into stone, and the rest of him was empty. Because no matter how hard he tried, there was a single fact that he knew was staring him in the face: there was absolutely nothing in Neptune Creek.

The school was sleepy. The days were sleepy. Hell, even the rain was sleepy, and yet the rest of them wanted to stay here. They flourished in the bog. Chris couldn't stand it. He had graduated three years ago now; he wanted out.

Neptune Creek had no official 'college', but (thank the stars) there was still a decent internet connection. He had taken online law courses– exams had been in the past few weeks and nobody had bothered to ask about them. That was, Chris reasoned, because they didn't care. Most people were too busy fawning over David and Rose, or asking about John, or talking to Peter about things that Peter did. At this point, he wasn't even sure what that was and, inversely, did not care at all.

And now John was in the hospital and Chris had a very unnerving feeling that it was because he had pretended not to care. Chris was scared that he was doing it again– was there a cycle happening?

But he was even more terrified of the alternative– that he didn't matter to them at all.

It wouldn't be the end of the world. However, he didn't like thinking about it all the same. Because when he did, the next rational thought is 'does it matter if I matter' and then it goes on and on until finally you realize that it doesn't actually matter if you matter because in the end, all you are is a body and perhaps a breath of carbon dioxide because if everything that you are is unique then you are so alone in the universe that your existence is trivial. And the last thought is always the same– ignore it. Because that's all you can do. Keep running from it until you drop.

Or, perhaps, keep listening to the rain falling next to you until you finally open your eyes again. Because when you notice what's around you, it's easier to pretend that nothing's coming.

The sun had begun to set, and Chris could imagine all the lights going out down there in the city. He could practically see Peter clicking the light off in the living room. Maybe looking out the window of the kitchen before heading down the hallway. David wasn't there; David was hardly at home anymore. Who could blame him? If Chris had anywhere else to hide, he would be gone. Maybe.

It was this strange sort of magic, the enthrall of the fading light through the leaves, the softness of the rain pitter–pattering on the damp wood. Even if there was someone there now, he'd hope that they wouldn't say a word.

What would he say if there was someone there?

I'm sorry.

And they'd say, for what? But there was always something to be sorry for. I'm sorry that it's raining. I'm sorry that I'm rude. I'm sorry that you're not having a good day.

That was why he didn't want another person there– because he loved silence too. And while loving silence and rain is contradictory to the extreme, it was a different sort of silence that he craved– the silence left in the absence of voices, not the silence left in the absence of everything.

His eyes began closing. The sort of green smell of the trees after rain was soporific; he couldn't keep his thoughts in order.

So he fell asleep outside, in the rain.

And he dreamt of a girl he had never seen. He dreamt of days that never happened, of laughter and smiling and tears. He dreamt of the forest at rain time, dancing through the wet dirt with bluebells in her hair. He dreamt of purpose; he dreamt of mattering, and mattering with her. She mattered too. They all mattered, but the beauty in it was that they mattered all on their own.

And when he woke up, the rain had stopped but the strange magic was still there. He could see the streetlamp in the front of the house glowing, dappling the yard where water drops stained the glass. The lantern he had brought with him lay unused beside him; when he picked it up, water spilled over the side and ran through the slats of Gallifrey Landing. He looked around; it was night now, not twilight anymore; and the sleepy town had given in to its baser instinct of unconsciousness. He felt like the only one alive in a darkened world.

Chris slowly stood and tested a branch. Not too slippery– he should be fine. He tossed the lantern down to the ground, wincing at the sludgy thud it made as it landed. He began to work his way down the dark, damp leaves.

When he was two feet from the ground, he jumped, landing with a squelch. Chris stooped to pick up the lantern, flicking it on as he did so. Illuminated in the pale light was a dying bluebell, slightly crushed where the lantern had fallen.

He slowly plucked it, holding it tightly between his fingers, and smiling a little, walked back to the house. Because just for a moment, he knew that he did matter, that there was a purpose to his existence- and he knew that he only needed himself to find it.

–

When John woke up again– as in, fully conscious– the Woman was back.

He only called her the Woman because he was unsure of her name. All the other ones had nametags and badges and whatnot. She just had a dark dress and a strange hairdo. that meant she couldn't be a nurse– all those had their hair either cropped or kept back in a ponytail.

"What happened?"

The Woman looked up with a start, eyes unfocused. He noted that they were blue– a very bright blue, almost ice–colored.

"You're awake."

"Wonderful powers of observation. Now. What. Happened." he said sharply.

She settled back into her chair, hands folded atop the book she had been engrossed in. "You tell me."

"Well, I'm clearly not dead, so they figured it out quickly," he began. "but I'm still in pain, so I guess they didn't find me quickly enough."

"On the contrary, Mr. Smith. Do you remember anything from the past week or so?"

John narrowed his eyes and tried to think. A sharp pain seemed to shoot from everywhere all all at once, and his fists clenched, instantly unconcerned about remembering lat week.

"Ah. No." he said through gritted teeth. "Nothing."

The Woman stood and walked over, beginning to fiddle with something by the side of the bed. The pain subsided. "Nothing at all?" she asked gently.

"Well..." he coughed a bit. "Clara. I remember Clara."

"Okay."

He looked up at her, mind beginning to clear. "Who are you?"

"Call me Missy."

"And I'm guessing you know my name already."

"Mm. Yes. You mentioned your belief that they found you too late. It's incorrect. According to a predictionfor what you did, they found you about an hour before you went critical. However, in the past week or so, your subconscious has been displaying the same suicidal tendencies that surfaced that night– a refusal to accept help, communication, eat, less of a questioning attitude than the one you've adopted now–"

"I don't need a psychoanalysis." John interrupted. Missy's eyes flashed. "I need a straight answer."

"But you already know what the answer is." she said unconcernedly.

He did. He had worked it out.

"They're still killing me." he breathed out.

"Exactly." she was standing near the back of the room now, packing her things. "And now it's your choice, Mr. Smith. Do you want to cooperate now? Or do you want to continue destroying yourself from the inside out."

He closed his eyes, pushing his head against the pillow. "Cooperate." he whispered.

"Thank you."

She began to leave, but paused at the door. "Pleasure to meet you."

John didn't reply.


	23. The Search For Gray September: Skylark

**A/N OHMYSTARS NEARLY SEVENTY *glows with happiness* So! dark-thyme-lord- THE PROPOSAL IT WAS GONNA BE A CUTE SUPRISE. :C Lynda...that's a good idea, but I've got something a bit different planned. acciobowtie11: BUT THEORIES...THEORIES ARE COOL. SonataOfTimeAndSpace: Me too. Little pissant resisted for a while :P. ScarKitTheMakaNedo:...oh my god I actually hadn't thought about that... Izwick: Ooh, I will. I planned a thing for him. A good thing. So, executive decision- along with Peter, Clara and Rose as upcoming POVs, I'm adding two more- Danny Pink and Oswin Oswald. Order: this one's Oswin, then Rose, then Peter, then Danny, then Clara, and the storyline should have progressed enough by then for the Thing to happen. What is the Thing? you might ask. You shall see. Disclaimer: still don't own. Read and review?**

**The Search for Gray September: Skylark**

If Oswin Oswald knew one thing for certain, it was that Beethoven. Sucked. Ass.

She pounded out another few notes of the damned sonata before planting her face on the keyboard, creating a wonderful chaotic harmony of notes that the musician would have been appalled to hear in the midst of his creation; however, Oswin didn't have the energy to care.

Every night, she had stayed up late finishing schoolwork. Most of her grades were coming in satisfactory– at least by Clara's standards. The only grade besides an A in any class was music. Hence the piano. Hence the Beethoven. Hence the annoyance.

If given the choice, Oswin would drop the class in a second. Sadly, she needed an art credit to graduate at all, and since she had no talent with any sketching or painting class, she had assumed Music was a nice and easy choice. She was so incredibly wrong that it hurt almost as much as the keys straining against her skull.

Oswin leaned back into her chair again and made an exasperated grunt–y noise. She would've asked for help, but there was a 99.999999999999999% chance that Clara was sitting in her room now searching for 'gray September'/ working on her art thingy/moping. Perhaps texting that math assistant. Whichever one it was, it wouldnt be a helping mood, which Oswin was perfectly fine with. Most things she could do on her own.

Tentatively she reached out and tapped a key. It was off of the one that she was supposed to start on.

She groaned. Was giving up an option right now? Well, she didn't really need to know it just yet...

"Nope. Not doing it." She reached up and picked a book off the top of the piano.

She couldn't do it. More accurately, she didn't want to do it. Most accurately, she didn't care to do it and therefore wouldn't. She had no drive, no motivation to succeed– at least not at this. For everything else, she had copied her sister's relentless pattern of knowledge–gain, but only to a point– where Clara stalled at around tenth grade, Oswin kept going. An eleventh grader now, she was the top in her very small class. And it was awful.

Before Neptune Creek, she and Clara had lived in a bigger place a few hundred miles out called Alondra. Oswin had always liked the word alondra; in Spanish, it meant skylark. The name seemed free, open, and her brain associated the image with a small bird in flight, frozen in a moment of pale blue.

Alondra had been her home; now, Alondra was her goal. There was no way that she could keep living here; she had to get out.

Her friends were in Alondra. Her sort–of–boyfriend was in Alondra. Her future was in Alondra, the town that was not as big as any major city but not as puny as Neptune Creek. Alondra had her hopes, her dreams, and a life that was much more palatable than a hundred forevers in what might be te worst town ever.

Oswin did like being around people; she wasn't a total introverted mess like most people around here. However, if she didn't like a person, then she wouldn't even say hello. And the collective person of Neptune Creek was so annoying that she needed to leave. Quickly.

Not because the people were rude (though most of her classmates were bastards or starry–eyed dreamers). Not because her sister was stuck moping over the admittedly gorgeous John Smith (though it was a pity he was in the hospital, she had never really knew him at all apart from the camp– thing which had ended a while ago). It was because Oswin Oswald did not have another goal.

When she was three, she wanted to be a cat. After seven–year–old Clara informed her that this was impossible, she decided on ballerina. Then hacker. Then lawyer. It went on and on and on, through neuroscience and author and superheroine and countless other things. But now it was almost time to choose, and she didn't even have her list ready.

She could do almost anything, of course. With her talents and grades, everyone expected her tomdo something amazing, go somewhere wonderful– but nobody knew where. She didn't know where. But Oswin preferred not to think about it, because it always led her back to Alondra. So that's where she assumed she was going– back to Alondra. Back to where the future was brigher than Neptune Creek.

She and Clara had planned to stay there, even though their mother was ill. She hadn't been terminal or anywhere close, and their lives had mostly excluded her– until one day, they were told by the Alondra hospital that there was nothing more that they could do. That was a little over a month ago– and then everything changed.

Clara hired Alice and began to pack up their house in Alondra. Oswin resisted until the last day.

'It will be all right.' Clara had said. 'Nothing will change, not that much. And Mum'll still be just around the corner, like always.'

Her words did nothing, and Oswin remembered screaming into her pillow until she fell asleep on the first part of the car ride over. Words meant nothing to grief in the same way that Beethoven meant nothing to a musical illiterate; they were irritation but there was no way to stop them.

A huge sigh came from Clara's room, and Oswin looked up as a thud echoed it. Obviously, the search was not going well.

Oswin set the book aside and walked to Clara's room. The occupant brushed her slightly–damp bangs from her face and looked at Oswin. She sniffled a bit before her eyes strayed to the upturned computer.

"What happened?" Oswin leaned a bit against the doorframe.

"Erm...I don't actually know."

She had been crying. How had Oswin not realized that her sister was crying?

"How is he, then?"

"He's.." the older girl swallowed, closing her eyes. "He is. Can't say much more than that."

"Decline, then."

Clara had been visiting the Smiths ever since the first day she visited John– almost four days ago now Oswin didn't know if it was really helping or harming her; she seemed fine when she returned, better than almost any other days before– but she drowned the damage in tissues stuffed between the back of her nighttable and the wall.

"Yeah. Decline." Clara managed, before beginning to break down.

"Oh, Clara." Oswin said, half disapproving and half empathetic. "Clara."

She walked and sat next to her sobbing sister, completely unsure of what to do. Clara leaned into her, frame still shuddering with waves of tears.

"Please.." Clara whispered between fits, "Please...don't...say...anything."

"I won't say anything at all."

That was something she was good at. So she sat there and was with Clara while she cried...and apparently, that was enough.

* * *

Missy closed the door behind her and exhaled sharply. Her eyes followed a nurse walking past, but she wasn't really focused; that conversation had not gone as well as she had hoped. Patient seemed agressive, though currently less apathetic than she had been led to believe. That was a good sign, though it migt have come too late.

She fished around in her bag, searching for her notepad– and froze. It was still sitting beside her chair. In the room.

Was he still awake? Most likely. After about a week and a half of a sort of stasis– waking, he'd want to be alert every second he could. She'd just have to face him again.

She waited a minute, eyes flickering at each person who passed by. Then, she slowly re–opened the door.

Her shoes made clicking noises against the generic, hard faux–stone floor of hospitals, and she winced at every step. After what seemed like an eternithy, Missy stooped and picked up the notebook. She turned to go, but his voice stopped her.

"How many times did she come?"

"Who?" Missy asked, not bothering to turn around.

"Clara."

She twisted her head slightly; in her peripheral vision she saw his face, attentive but on edge. "Just the once." she answered. "The one time. Before that you called for her."

"I did?"

He sounded surprised. Missy swiveled amd looked at him– actually looked. He still seemed tired, and a bit confused; his lips were parted slightly out of shock.

"Yes. You did."

Silence fell for a few moments, but then Missy asked the question that had been on her mind since the first time he had said that name– "Do you love her?"

"Clara? Do I love Clara?"

"That is the question, yes."

"Of course not. I don't love Clara. I...well." John paused. "I love the idea of Clara."

"The idea of Clara...how do you mean?"

"You've seen her." he said softly. "You've talked to her. You're a psychologist, aren't you? So psych. She's got her guard up twenty–four/seven, and it takes a lot to get it down. But when it falls...when it falls, she's the most beautiful person that you could ever imagine."

"But that would be the real her, wouldn't it?"

"Really? Would it be? And is the version who hides almost everything fake? Is that really the way people are?"

His question irritated her; she had no answer.

"Or perhaps the 'real her', as you say, is the fissad and the other version is 'real', and I'd be currently trying to stay alive for someone who doesn't exist."

"So she's why you're trying now." Missy cut in.

He was quiet for a while. And then– "She still believes that I can do it."

When John said it like that, she sounded normal– not like she was the most beautiful person or the girl who hid behind walls. But his emphasis– she sounded important. Incredibly important. She believed in him; he believed in her, in a way, and that was what mattered. Something clicked in Missy's mind and she smiled.

"Thank you, then."

John frowned. "Why?"

"Because this just got a bit more interesting." And with that, she made sure that she had her things and left at last.


	24. The Search For Gray September: Believing

A/**N Guess what time it is? Selective insomnia time! In other words: I can't sleep, so y'allses get a double. Izwick- ok. The POV thing annoys me too, but three things have to happen BEFORE I get to the chapter with Clara's POV- the letter (Peter) the script (Rose) the leaf (Danny) and finally, after those, the meeting (Clara, but the rest of the searchers as well). Along with this, I needed a chapter to flesh out background and how Clara's reacting, which is a bit difficult to show from her POV because even then I write her with her guard up and filter on. The other thing is that there was a bit of a dilemma about three endings that could have happened, but now I have chosen the second (Milo, you ought to know what this entails) meaning that someone-now Danny- had to remember the leaf that Clara's mom gave her, because that is a coughincrediblyfuckingrelevantplotpointcough. Ahem. On to Rose's chapter now, though it's more like a split Clara-Rose one...bear with me. It'll end okay. **

**The Search For Gray September: Believing**

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Rose's hand shot out from where she lay, lopsided on her desk. After a whole, her brain sluggishly remembered that she was not in bed.

The infernal beeping bored a hole in her head. She furrowed her brow and tried to get her vision to stop acting up. What had happened last night?

She stumbled over and finally slammed her hand on the clock, making the horrendous

noise cease. A huge sigh escaped her and she surveyed the room with half-lidded eyes.

All night...there was something that she had been doing all night. It was...it was a paper-thing, something to do with paper...David had been there at first. She remembered that. But then, after a while, he went away...

She blinked a few more times and then pulled aside the curtain slightly. Rain was falling gently; David's old Jeep was nowhere in sight.

Rose closed the curtain and went to the desk. Her laptop was hibernating but still open; a book with little bits highlighted and a huge packet sat bear the center of the table. The book was creased oddly, and Rose realized that she had fallen asleep on it; touching her cheek, she could feel the

small dent at the corner pf her mouth where the edge had pressed in.

She glanced down at the packet- no, script. An older one of John's, labeled Bestiary- for a second, looking at the lazy scrawl that covered it- then suddenly she looked back. The writing wasn't hers. It wasn't David's, either.

It was the handwriting of Amelia Pond, scribbled all over an old edition of one of John's scripts.

She sat again, almost awake now, and began to read.

_Imagery spot on here. Wonderful setting for the scene. Less descriptive in dialogue, though?_

_IT'S A REFERENCE OMG JOHN_

_Okay. Definitely more background here._

And then Rose found it. She found the words that made her blood run cold. This is why she could barely sleep last night. Rose held the paper up closer to her face tonmake sure her eyes didn't decieve her.

L_ove that line- the mysterious boy from gray september. Is it a symbol for how depression warps a person or am I looking too close to the surface? Please respond._

To the left, circled, was the entire phrase, hidden in lines of a practically worthless text. Rose's mouth had slid open.

Had she found it?

No. John couldn't have made it this easy. That was it- she had the equation, but no means to solve it.

She pressed the power button on her computer, a slow buzz of excitement building up inside her. Rose tapped her fingers quickly until the log in screen appeared; her username and passcode were in as fast as she could.

A Word document appeared, and suddenly there were bullet points up to her eyes. Ideas. Ramblings. Rose had clearly found it at midnight or sometimes past, because several went off onto completely unrelated tangents and then circled back to their original topic with no point at all.

It was at this moment that Rose stopped for a second. She took a deep breath in, then exhaled theough her teeth, enjoying that strange whistling that the rushing air made. Outside, a car drove by, nyooming its way to who-knows-where.

Last night...what happened?

David had come over. This wasn't an unusual occurence; he seemed to be coming over more now. She was thrilled that he considered it a safe place; she was, however, worried that his own home was not classified as such. Anyways. He'd come over. They'd gotten drinks from the cupboard, nothing too strong though, and after about an hour of chat and telly and such David had mentioned the scripts.

She had been intrigued, and asked to see them. He had given her one out of his bag, and, together, they had pored over it. It was one of theirs from a few years back, and they laughed at the poor quality and formatting that many scripts of theirs from that era seemed to share. He had kissed her, whiapered something, and then left, but not before placing the rest of the scripts on the coffee table. Sometime after that...from there it got a bit blurry. The alcohol and tiredness had provably kicked in, but Rose kept reading, and a good thing too- because she. Had. Found. It. She, Rose Tyler, had solved half the riddle. She had found a possible meaning- and proof that there was a definite undertone of this before Amelia passed.

So, therefore, it wasn't all Amy's fault.

Oh, thank you, David.

Rose stepped to the bedside and picked up her phone.

About five miles away, Clara woke to a ringing noise. "Rose?"

"Clara. I need to show you something."

"What kind of a something?" How did Clara sound so awake?

"A very important something. C'mon, get over here."

"It's six fifteen."

"Wonderful skills of observation." Rose said dryly. "I'm serious, though."

"Can't you just tell me what you found?"

Rose paused before speaking again. "I found the boy from gray September."

"What?"

"I found the-"

"I heard what you said." Clara interrupted. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay."

"Oh, and Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you so much." The smile was almost audible in the other girl's voice.

Rose hung up. The rain had stopped. And a few minutes later, a dark red car pulled up into the driveway, and Rose Tyler already had the door open.

-the day before-

On the fifth day after Clara had first visited John at Trenzalore, she found herself waiting in the lobby.

That morning, a woman named Melissa Erikkson had emailed her with a request for a meeting about John, stating her concerns for his psychological health while at Trenzalore. Tasha had been kinder today- Clara was checked in but had not met the mysterious Melissa yet- and she was nervous. Very nervous.

The doors to the back slid open and a woman walked out. Her ice-blue eyes landed on Clara, shining with recognition.

"Clara Oswald." Ice Woman stated, walking over and stretching out a hand. Warily, Clara took it and shook.

"I gather that you are Melissa Erikkson?" Clara asked, attemptong to be pleasant. The woman waved her hand a bit as if to wave off her own name.

"Call me Missy, please. Hardly anyone uses Melissa anymore." She said with a light laugh. "Come with me?"

She began walking off- in the opposite direction from where John was last time. "Sorry," Clara said, jogging a bit to keep up. "But who are you again?"

"Psychology student observer. I've been trying to help your...friend...John Smith." Missy said, eyes locked straight ahead.

"So why didn't you call his direct family? And why are we going this way? His room was closer last time."

"He became more stable after your last visit; he was moved out of ICU. However, that's not where we're going."

Missy pushed open the door to the arboretum and beckoned Clara through.

"And as to why didn't we call Peter or David or Chris- he doesn't believe that they can help him, which brings us to a question."

"Who does he trust, then?" Clara sat on one of the benches, while Missy took the one across from her.

"Exactly." The icy gaze had settled upon Clara again, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"Rose? River?"

Missy frowned. "Who are they?"

"Amy Pond?"

"Ah. You know about that."

"It was her, then?"

"No."

Clara looked down, bangs slipping into her face. Her heart pounded in her ears. "Me."

"Precisely, Miss Oswald. Do you know why he decided to try and stay alive again?"

"For...for me?"

"Almost. He explained it to me in thorough detail yesterday, which is why I requested your contact information- he wants to stay alive so that you can figure something to do with September out. I took notes-"

"I don't need notes. I get it."

Clara stood. "Tell him that I'm working on it, now, and that I will finish. No matter what happens."

A lull occurred, and then Missy stood as well. "Room 207."

"What?"

"Room 207." Missy began to walk past her. As she neared, Clara caught her parting whisper- "You could just tell him yourself."

Missy vanished, leaving Clara behind.

Clara looked up at the rest of the hospital through the glass roof. Somewhere, in one of those rooms, was her mother. Sonewhere, in one of those rooms, was a boy she barely knew. But he had faith in her , and right now, that was what she needed.

She left the arboretum, but didn't leave the building.

I have faith in him, too, she thought, as she pushed open the door to room 207.


	25. The Search For Gray September: Hopeful

A/N Hey guys. Don't you LOVE the near midnight updates? :) sorry about the weird time, but I finished writing, so...DID YOU GUYS SEE KILL THE MOON? OH MY GODS THAT WAS SERIOUSLY AWESOME. Also, I absolutely love Courtney and might try and write her into the Danny chapter a bit- which is up next, by the way! Izwick: AWW THANKS :) And yeah. She should probably die. Buuuuuut...she won't. Not yet. dark–thyme–lord: OKOKOK depression is ONE meaning of the title– it's the meaning closest to the surface. The second meaning requires some application of the first meaning to a. the situation, b. pre– and post– Amy John, and c. either Clara's leaf or the swan picture (since we're going with ending 2 it's the leaf. Ending 3 used the swan and ending 1 didn't use anything because it was by far the stupidest of the endings.) Son of Whitebeard: and probably a bit scared, too. ScarKitTheMakaNedo: *whispers* psssst it was supposed to be hard to figure out. If it wasn't, I did something wrong. You're fine. GriffinGirl: Thanks! And now we move into Peter's POV, as well as the good thing for Chris. Next up is Danny, and then a few more in hers until...the Thing. Read and review please? Still don't own.

The Search For Gray September: Hopeful

It was October now, and Peter wasn't perpetually struggling to hold everything back.

Somehow, it didn't feel like there was much left to hold anymore anyways. David was spending most of his time at Rose's, Chris was always tapping away at something in his room, and John was stable, according to the reports. Clara hadn't contacted him yet, and he didn't expect her to. In all honesty, if he did get a call after the last excitement, he would be very surprised if she hadn't given up.

The door made a small click as he opened it, letting the cool air wash over him before setting off across the street.

He couldn't pretend this was normal; it wasn't. He couldn't make this normal; that was incredibly unfair to John, and to Clara, and to everyone else there who couldn't live like this much longer. Peter couldn't live like this much longer, though tolerance was his specialty; it was eating away at him from the inside.

Peter yanked open the mailbox roughly, relishing in the clank of metal on metal. He was faced by a sheaf of papers– what? Oh. Right. He had forgotten to get them earlier this week. He pulled out the pile and began back towards the house.

He elbowed the glass door open with his shoulder, idly whistling. In his peripheral vision, he saw Chris seated at the table, mug in hand. "Morning." Peter said, dropping into an empty seat.

"Morning." Chris murmured, voice distorted by the cup. He tilted it to his lips, swallowing before he spoke again. "Hope you don't mind, but I took some of your tea. Sorry."

"S'okay. It's everyone's tea."

"Good, because I wasn't really that sorry."

Peter glanced upwards and caught a flippant gleam in his brother's eyes; it was gone as soon as it came, though, so he looked back to the mail.

"Letter for you." Peter pulled it from the rest and casually tossed it over.

Chris snatched it from the air, barely looking up from his tea. "From who?"

"I don't know, I'm not a snoop."

"Never said you were."

Chris turned over the letter with his free hand. A second later, the mug thudded onto the table, spilling tea towards the rest of the post.

"Oi! Christopher!"

Chris said nothing, eyes fixed on the letter. Peter quickly gathered up the rest of the papers, even those partially tea–soaked. A few drops of the lukewarm liquid ran down his shirt, and he sighed in annoyance. "Did it come from Hogwarts or something? What is it?"

The younger boy was speechless. The older one was irritated, and there was still sort–of–cold–disgusting tea dripping on him. "Chris?"

All of a sudden, Chris began tearing the letter open, pulling his finger through the fold roughly, creating a thousand tiny little tears in the paper. He pulled out the sheet, envelope discarded. Pete set the damp pages on the counter and picked up the envelope.

"From: The Scholarship Board of the University of Cambridge.."

Chris nodded furiously.

"To Christopher Smith, Neptune Creek, 0212 Plymouth Street."

"I did it." Chris whispered. "I. Freaking. Did. It."

He jumped up from the table, a huge smile breaking out on his face. "PETER I DID IT I GOT A SCHOLARSHIP THEY ACCEPTED ME OH MY GOD I DID IT!"

Peter read the rest of the letter as Chris, more elated than his brother had ever seen him, ran to David's room screaming the same thing. When Peter set down the letter, confused again, both boys were jumping about, congratulating and screaming.

"This says grad program." Peter narrowed his eyes at Chris. The smile on David's face twisted a bit as he realized the implication. "Graduate implies you finished undergrad."

"I did!" Chris bounced a bit where he stood. "Online! Oh, you lot never noticed, you never notice anything. But I did it, and now–" He shoved the paper to Peter, crazy grin occupying his whole face.

Peter scanned the letter– Chris wasn't lying. He smiled broadly. "Congratulations!"

Chris punched the air and spun in a circle. "FANTASTIC! Absolutely fantastic."

David flung his arms into the air. "WUNDERBAR!"

"This calls for celebration." David stated. "Cake?"

"Cake." Peter and Chris simultaneously agreed.

Five minutes later, David had left to seek cake and Peter was rereading the summary–thing near the bottom. Since Chris had missed part of the first semester while they evaluated, he was to come in by at least October 22nd to begin classes...

A wave of apprehension washed over him, and he shuddered a bit. It was cold, he reasoned. Just cold. "Hey, they're letting you start mid–term!"

"Yeah." Chris was still grinning wildly, bouncing his knee and tapping the table– the excitement was barely kept down. "It's pretty cool. That usually doesn't happen, but they're letting me anyway."

"it's great." Peter glanced back at it. "October 22nd– that's pretty close, though."

If possible, Chris' grin became wider. "Yeah!"

"What did you get in for?"

"Web design. I started on the major about two years ago, only really focused for this year and a half." Chris pulled out his phone, still talking. "My transcript was exxclent, they said. They ignored the little blip that happened around tenth grade–"

Peter winced. The fire had caused a 'blip' for everyone; David, Chris and John were so confused and scared, but Peter was terrified– he had only ever studied these facts and figures about survival in the modern day, not used them.

"–And even then, considering what happened, they said that I was doing fine!" He turned the screen to Peter, displaying his online college transcript that he had never mentioned. Peter blinked.

"Oh wow."

Chris nodded, biting his lip slightly. "I'm going to go send a thank you email."

He left the table, leaving Peter with the rest of the mail and a letter full of hope in the dark days that had surrounded them. To Chris, the letter was a lantern, a bright light, a calling that he was eager to take. And Peter was glad. In fact, he was ecstatic that his brother had found a chance to do something.

But...nobody had known. Chris never talked about it– to any of thim. Was this what those long nights on the computer were? Why had he never said a word?

Had he, and they just...never noticed at all?

It was a scary thought, but he pushed it aside. He should be completely happy for his brother.

–and then, his phone buzzed.

Clara? after over a week of silence?

No. Tasha, from Trenzalore. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes– it was probably serious, and his dislike of her (and the fact that she still had his number) shouldn't get in the way. He tapped in the lock and opened it.

"Oh, no..."

–

That night, he dreamed of a burning world. No, no it wasn't burning. It was...so alive.

He walked forward and suddenly everything came into clearer focus. The trees gleamed silver in the dying light. A glass city gleamed on the horizon. Only about sixty yards away, the outskirts of a city began.

John took another step– and realized that there was a red cape around his shoulders. It had always been there– as had the gold bracelet around his wrist, covered in symbols that he could read as easily as his own name– because it was his name, somehow. He looked up again, and suddenly she was there with him.

Somehow, she looked even more beautiful in the colors of this place, the red uniform of the royals draped around her perfectly. She reached a hand up to touch his face, and the cool touch of her name on his skin sent a shock through him. He closed his eyes.

This was Gallifrey. He knew it. He had dreamed of it for weeks at a time as a child.

John hadn't seen it in years, and she was never there.

He opened his eyes again, and was instantly confused– she had withdrawn her hand and was wiping her eyes with the edge of her tunic. She was crying...she was crying, but so silent.

"Can't let you see." she whispered. "Can't."

"Yes, you can." His voice nearly broke. "You can let me see the damage. That's half the point."

"No, I can't." In that moment she spoke with Amelia's voice, and John stepped back. It was then that he saw the bandage covering her right side.

Slowly, he moved towards her. She watched him silently, dark eyes reproachful.

He touched the white cloth, and it melted. Beneath, her arm and shoulder seemed to be..vanishing, pieces just..gone, like a video game pixel effect- fading, then as if they were never there at all. He looked up in alarm- and suddenly saw that a patch of her ear was missing as well. "What..."

"This world is breaking apart," she said simply, "And so am I. But you can't see it."

Then he looked-actually looked at the world around him. The glass city was falling, the ground was cracked, the trees were dying. Helpless, he turned back to her-

-but Clara was gone.

"John. JOHN."

He opened his eyes- and there she was again. Her touch was warm on his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Her worried eyes searched him, and a twinge of guilt struck in his heart. There was the damage. Plain as day.

"I'm fine. Just...bit of a bad dream."

"What about?"

"A...fear of mine. A bit old, though. Didn't know.." he paused as the ramifications of moving shot through him, pain apiking all over. This was bad... "Didn't know it was still there."

"A fear?"

"Oh, yes." he tried for a smile. "But don't worry about me, Miss Oswald. Fear is a superpower, you know."

"Fear can't be a superpower." Clara sounded a but more relaxed now; she had, however moved out of his line of vision.

"It is, though! It keeps you alert, thinking clearly, capable of ao much more than when you're calm- and do you want to know what else it can do?"

"Sure."

"It keeps you human. And that, Clara, is the best superpower of all."


	26. The Search For Gray September: Electrify

**A/N Midnight needs to stop being my habit. Anyways- SPACE MUMMIES TOMORROW! -um, today. Ish. I've been really excited about this. So! dark–thyme–lord: *surreptitiously hands John a blanket and a hug coupon* ScarKitTheMakaNedo: THANKS :) Son Of Whitebeard: I'm doing my job then! Yay! God Is Wearing Black– But David as a name for the Doctor! OHKAY. Now we move into Danny's POV...and COUGH. PLOT POINT. COUGH. LEAF. COOOOUGH. Also, after this we have a Clara chapter with– you got it– WEIRD FORMATTING. I swear that I am the Queen of Weird Formatting. Basically– remember how there was a Nearly Day Nine? Well, there's going to be a Day Nine. And Ten. There are going to be fifteen days– crammed into one chapter. In other words– You shall be recieveing a long–ass chapter. Soon. Hoping that makes up for this one. Wunderbar! Allons–y, then?**

**The Search For Gray September: Electrify**

"Come on in!" Clara flashed him a bright smile as she unlocked the autumnal red door.

Looking back on it, he wasn't thinking straight, and he was probably a little drunk, and he really liked the bright little sparkle on her eyes. Not exactly infallible reasoning, but good enough for him at the time. However, somehow it felt strange as he crossed the threshold, like he was going somewhere that he oughtn't be.

They had, after a few weeks, finally gone out to replace the coffee- and ended up having an extended chat and a bit else to drink. Danny was rather proud of himself; nothing really bad had happened so far. Meaning, of course, that he would screw something up later on. Based on his past dates, it was inevitable-though this didn't feel much like a date. Was that the bad thing?

"CLARA, ARE YOU AND ROSY BACK? OR IS THIS A ROBBERY?" A very loud voice screeched from the hallway. Clara swore. Danny smirked a bit, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Locked up a clone in there or something? She sounds exactly like you."

Clara sighed, rubbing her temple, eyes half closed. "No, not a clone–"

A girl who looked almost exactly like Clara stomped out into the hall, hands on hips. "Not a robber then. Where the hell have you been?"

Danny glanced sideways at Clara. "Who is this?"

Both Oswalds turned to him, one in exasperation and the other in embarassment.

"That's Oswin." Clara said at the same time as the girl said, clearly irate, "Oswin, the sister?"

Clone, Danny thought. Definitely clone.

"You lot were supposed to be back an hour ago," Oswin growled. "An hour." She laid so much emphasis on the last word that Danny was sure that the sentence would break.

"Sorry..did we miss an important thing?"

"Yeah. You need to come here. Now."

Clara turned to look at him apologetically. "Sorry, I've..."

Danny held his hands out. "It's okay. I understand. Nice to meet you, Oswin." The girl glared at him, but he didn't react.

"I'll only be a few minutes." Clara promised, disappearing down the hallway with her sister firmly attached to one arm.

Danny just sort of stood there, unsure of what to do. It was around now that he realized the sheer amount of books surrounding him.

The Oswalds were clearly bibliophiles; he began to browse theought the shelves, brain still foggy. So many classics– why wasn't Clara an English teacher? He had a friend from high school who had became an English teacher, and he hadn't read about a third of these.

Then, his fingers stopped. One spine stood out among the other ones– 101 Places To See, a thick, old cloth–bound. It was well worn and greenish–gray from age; slowly, he tugged it from its spot and began to flip through. Barcelona...Paris...London...New York...all the wonders of the world included. He got to the hundredth, skimming, and about seven minutes had passed. Danny turned the page for the hundred and first– but it wasn't there.

It was a blank fill–in–your–own slot for the hundred and first– but Clara hadn't written anything. Instead, there was a red, darkened leaf that looked like it had existed long past it's expiration date.

He touched it lightly with one finger. Part crumbled to dust, and he nearly dropped the book. Clara watched on from the doorway, a slight grin on her face.

"Having fun there, Mr. Pink?"

He turned to her, expression so deer–in–the–headlights that she began laughing. "Oh, silly. What book..." She trailed off, the smile sliding from her face and her eyes fixed on the green-and gold book, very out of place in his large and clumsy hands.

"What was the meeting?"

"Oswin doesn't like you." Clara said bluntly. Danny blinked.

"Oh."

"That's what she wanted to tell me. Why did you take out that book?"

"It was prettier than the rest." Clara scoffed at this, and Danny shrugged. "It was! So few books are this...plain anymore. Look at that." He ran his thumb along the bottom edge, sweeping it up the page until it landed on the stem of the leaf, finally asking the question in the back of his mind.

He looked up at her. "What's this?"

"That–" Clara reached over and slammed the book shut. "That is page one."

"No, it's not. It's page 101. I saw." Danny began to own it for reference, but Clara stopped him with a look.

"Eyes can be decieving."

"As can be words."

"Which do you trust more?"

"An explanation."

Clara sat. "Words, then."

"Mm."

"Basically, twenty nine years ago, that leaf was just beginning to grow on this strange old tree in Blackpool..."

She completed the story of how her parents met, Danny being relatively attentive (and more sober by the second) the entire time. When she finished, he leaned back and sighed.

"Well then."

"Yeah."

"Why'd she give it to you, then?"

Clara turned the leaf over in her hand, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't know, to be honest. She said...she said that it was where I was from. But the funny thing is, I'm not from Blackpool. I'm from London."

"From isn't always a place, you know."

Clara cocked her head at him, confused. "Sorry?"

"From. It's not just a place."

"Well, where else could I be from?" Clara asked, sounding oddly Oswinlike when whe was angry. "A dream? Another world? A..."

She intook a sharp breath.

"Oh."

Suddenly she was on her feet, breathing elevated. "Sorry Danny, but you have to go. Also, so do I."

"You've worked something out."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Mind telling me what?"

"Yes. Danny, seriously, thank you for this but– oh, it's eleven, I'll never make it. I can– I can call. Yes."

"Stop stressing," Danny soothed, but he was being pushed out the door.

"Bye."

And suddenly the door was being slammed in his face.

–

"Clara? What is it?"

"Peter? You listening?"

"No. I'm just pretending to."

"Then listen. I've got to tell you something."

"What?"

"I think I found the second meaning. I need to get to him."

There was a sigh on Peter's end. "Meeting, Clara."

"But–"

"Meeting. NOW."

The line beeped, and Peter was gone. Clara grabbed her keys, and, electrified to the toes, leapt out the door.

–

Somewhat silent...

Oh, it was bright. Too bright.

Had she come today? No. She hadn't. John opened up his eyes a crack.

He tried to open his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Alarm bells began going off in his head. He tried again, and there it was– a whisper. A wave of relief rippled through him.

Why hadn't Clara come today?

It was because of that teacher– Pink. Daniel Pink. He wanted to smile, but he couldn't force himself to. Somehow, he didn't want to be replaced...even though he knew there was no way for him to be there anyway.

He remembered one time that Clara visited where Missy left the radio on. She closed her eyes and began humming like it was her favorite song. And he was looking at her and trying not to smile, but oh, he couldn't stop himself. She was beautiful, and flawed, and she only whistled out of one side of her mouth and she was so special in so many ways that nobody else could begin to understand.

He. Wanted. Another. Chance.

John wanted another chance with his life. He wanted a refund on the days he had lost to fear and anger. He wanted another chance to see her, Clara, as the person she really is- because when she has nothing left to prove, that person glows through every little broken piece of her.

Oh, but if he was right, he wouldn't get one. That's what the boy from gray September had wanted, because he hadn't thought about one incredibly important aspect of the human condition-

-its ridiculous malleability. His own tendency towards change had been forgotten in his rush to find a way out of his mind. He had broken his future from his past, and it was killing him slowly.

He could barely stand it, because even though he was dying, hexpound have been so alive.

Nothing was happening. Nobody was home. He was just there, alone with his thoughts, barely existing in a void of tiles and beeping monitors.

He began to fall asleep again, wishing for a new day and a new purpose and a new beginning. But of course, a new beginning is paired hand in hand with a new end, a last chapter, but anything besides this.

These were the things that words could not capture, so he slid away and pondered a new world of the waking.

**A/N: Next chapter will be started...er, later today, I guess. Update should come tin the middle of the week- if it's later**,** then you know that is is a VEEERY long-ass chapter. **


	27. The Search For Gray September: Days

**A/N:LADIEEEEESSSS AND GENTLEMEN...THE LONG–ASS CHAPTER! Thank you, thank you very much. Sorry that it's kind of lat in the weekend, but stuff happened, I had hw, and more stuff happened. Ohkay, lot of content to cover here– Day Nine, Day Ten, and Day Eleven. In one chapter. Oh yes! After this: *title is a spoiler* and Welcome To The New Age, and in both of these I preapologize for what I'm about to do (however, if it helps, I might actually write out the alternate endings which are...different... Son Of Whitebeard: YESSS. GriffinGirl: I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. dark–thyme–lord: I know what you mean long chapters are the best but they take a while so sorryyyy... ScarKitTheMakaNedo: Hey, it's fine. Your support is appreciated :) Ok guys...we have about four chapters left. Wow. I'm still amazed at the fact that it got this far and the reception that it's gotten– thank you all so much for making the past few months so much better. :)**

**Without further ado: Still don't own. R&R please?**

**Day Nine: Saying Sweet Nothings**

(One day post Things To Be Hoped For)

The lock was virtually silent, but John could still hear the slight popping noise that it made when the door unlocked. He frowned, eyes still shut. He could hear two things now– his own breathing and the click of shoes on the faux–stone floor.

His heart sank– Missy again? Though she was the most constant visitor, he disliked her greatly. She seemed so very unattached to anything; her greatest concern about this whole matter was her work. But it didn't sound like the click of those spiky heels that she wore (he suspected those were a ruse to strike fear into her patients). It sounded much different– dulled, but not as dulled as the rubber soles of nurses.

"John? It's me again."

He didn't need to open his eyes to see who it was.

"I know you're awake."

"I never said I wasn't." His voice sounded raspy, and he didn't like it– but that's what happens if you don't talk for a while, he supposed. He coughed a bit, and actually looked at her. There was the strangest mixture of alarm and

relief in her eyes.

"So."

"So."

"..."

"..."

Clara laughed uncomfortably, rubbing her arm. "This sounds so weird, but I can't think of a thing to say."

"Neither can I." he said, smiling a bit as well. It was contagious; both of them began laughing at something that was barely funny.

"How's life been on the outside?" he asked at last, semi–jovially. She sat, fiddling with the edges of her sleeve. John tried not to think about that too much, but he knew what it meant, and that hurt a bit.

"Well...a few things have happened, I guess.."

"Go on," he prompted. Clara smiled a very small smile, actually pleased about something this time. "I got a new job. Art teacher at the high school."

A genuine smile stretched his features. "Oh, Clara, that's brilliant!"

She looked down, blushing a bit. "Yeah," she admitted. "It is, really. Mind you, Oswin's been so odd about it– one moment she's excited and the next she's incredibly mad because her sister is going to completely embarass her when she has art next semester."

"Her suspicions are correct, aren't they?"

"She's my sister. Teasing her is a moral imperative." Clara stressed the last word, and he laughed.

"True..."

Clara continued. "If you taught a class and Chris was in it, wouldn't you be obligated to tease him?"

"Oh, definitely!"

"My point."

"Point taken."

"..."

"..."

"Meet anyone new?" John pressed on.

"Oh. Uh...sort of." Clara tucked some hairs behind her ear and he realized that she was blushing a little, which hurt almost as much her constantly moving fingers. He forced a smile, wishing that he didn't know what it meant.

"Sort of?"

"Pink. Danny Pink."

"Never heard of him. Funny last name, though."

Clara rolled her eyes and smiled a happy little smile. "Yeah..."

"Well, that's lovely! You've made a friend."

"Why do you say that as if it's a sort of achievement? I'm making an effort not to be insulted."

"Oh, sorry, but who mentioned that she wasn't good with people literally the first time we met?"

"I'm not even going to respond to that."

"She responds." John teased, and she giggled.

"Shush."

"No."

"So how've you been? Something must've happened around here."

He thought about mentioning Missy, or the nurses, or the sick boy he had shared a room with the first few nights.

"Nah," he said lamely. "Nothing here but me and my dreaming."

"What do you dream about?"

"Hm..." He thought back to those bright fantastical worlds that his subconscious created. He reimagined the dark realms that filled his mind when he closed his eyes. John thought carefully, and responded, "I dream about where I'm going."

"But..." and he knew what she was about to say. "You're not going anywhere, are you?"

"That's cheerful."

"But..you're just sort of wandering about, is all."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

She checked her watch, and looked up in alarm. "I've got to go, Oswin's been alone for a few hours now."

"Okay."

Clara stood, gathering her things. "One more thing."

"Hm?"

"The boy from gray september."

John blinked. He knew those words well; they had been scrawled into his notes since the first time that he thought of the words and what they meant. "Did you figure it out?"

"Not yet. Oh, but I will. I will, don't worry."

She clicked her way out of the room. John smiled a bit.

"Oh, clever Clara...I'm not worried at all."

* * *

**Day Ten: Say Anything**

**(Two days post TSFGS:Bluebell)**

John smiled when he heard the newly-familiar pop of the door being opened. "Clara Eleanor Oswald. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, but the pleasure is all mine, Johnny boy."

"Don't-call-me-that."

"John Matthew Smith. There aren't many permutations there, hm?" she sat, smiling as he relished in every syllable of his jubilant "Nope!"

"I could call you Matt..."

"Ew. John wrinkled his nose, coughing slightly before continuing. "Matt Smith? Nah, Ozzie, that doesn't sound right."

"Are you okay? And do NOT call me Ozzie."

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just a bit sick..." He unconsciously fiddled with the cannula tube that had been placed in his nose earlier that week. It still annoyed him, but (as much as he hated to admit it) he needed it. His breathing unaided was rasping now, and there was no way that he wanted to let it show.

Clara's smile had faded a little bit, but she tried her best to put it on again. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know..." He waved his hand about aimlessly. "Window. People in white. Medicines. I think a sports team won something..."

"What about Missy?"

"You know about Missy?" His astonishment must have been amusing somehow, because she laughed.

"Of course I know about Missy. She took me aside to talk the other day." Clara leaned in and looked around as if she were about to tell John a secret. "To be honest, she scares me. A lot."

John burst out laughing, and she smiled broadly. "You too, then?"

"Yes! I'm pretty sure that woman scares everyone."

"Well, with those eyes-"

"And the million-inch spiky heels-"

"You noticed those?"

"Of course! They clicked like a metronome whenever she walked in!"

"Terrifying." Clara concluded.

"Fear-inspiring." John added, coughing a bit more. Clara frowned.

"Seriously, you're worrying me."

He sighed loudly. "Sorry, I'll try to cough less."

"No, I already know that you're trying to cough less." Clara narrowed her eyes. "Of course you are. You're John Matthew Smith, 'don't show' seems to be your motto. No, what's worrying is the fact that you keep coughing, and your breathing is off, but it wasn't over the past few days."

He was silent. The same thought hung in the air between them.

"Clara...we both know that at this point, every second is numbered and-"

"And so is every breath. So use yours to say anything, please, anything but that." A note of desperation had crept into her voice, and she swallowed as if trying to keep it down.

"Let's not talk about it." John said quietly.

"Okay." But there were still loads of worry in her eyes.

"Subject change?"

"Totally in favor."

"Er...teacher thing! How's teacher thing been going?"

Clara shrugged. "It's just been prep work so far. My first actual work as a teacher begins next semester, remember?"

"Right."

"Sad thing is, I can't quit the computer job until then." Clara pulled a face. "About three months left as Clara The Useless Coder, and then I should be in the clear. That means you have to at the very least stick around that long, because you're better than I am at this."

She swatted his arm lightly, and he rubbed it in mock pain. "I'll see what I can do." John mused, pretending to think about it.

"You don't really get a vote."

"Okay..."

Clara smiled. John coughed. They were silent.

"Have the dreams gotten better?"

He closed his eyes. No..

"Yes. They have."

"Please stop lying to me."

He opened one eye.

She stared at him, a odd look somewhere between distress and exasperation corrupting her face. "I know you're lying," she stated. "So please stop. You've got this ridiculous notion of a hero complex, d'you know? And that's what got you here in the first place. But you've got it wrong. Heroes can let the mortals hear their screams. I am here, and you can talk to me about it."

"I can let you see the damage. That's what you're saying."

"Exactly."

There was a long lull, and John tried to think of some way around doing what he was about to. After about a minute, he sighed and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't meet her gaze.

And that was the day that he began to tell her about his dreams.

* * *

**Day Eleven: Say Something**

**(During TSFGS: Believing, pre-the meeting of Searchers)**

John hated talking by now.

His voice had switched from 'approximating healthy' to 'twisted rasp' to 'pathetic whisper' in the course of a few days, and he couldn't stand it. "Let the damage show, because it can't hurt you anymore"; that was what Clara said, but he knew that she was wrong. Every time he tried to talk now it hurt not in the throat but in the mind, for he knew what was apt to happen soon.

The door popped its constant little pop; but it couldn't be Missy. She had already left from her visit earlier that day. Could it be Clara?

Perhaps.

They had fallen into a routine. She'd come every other day (usually) and if she couldn't make it one of the days, they had set Wednesday as a make- up day. She always came Wednesdays.

The shoes moved silently across the floor, but he knew it would hurt to turn his head, so he didn't.

"Hello."

David's Scottish lilt meandered into John's ears, and he froze.

"They said you might be asleep, but to be honest I didn't believe them. The nurses, I mean. They seem like good people, hope that they've helped you."

John tried to steady his breathing, but he was sure that David would catch on. He wasn't even sure why he didn't want to speak with his own brother..

...oh. Right. He was barely speaking.

"And...Peter said he had come in a little while ago, and that there was stuff wrong, and he mentioned the tiredness thing too, which is so confusing because-"

David stopped short, but John knew why. Because when he was well, John barely slept. He was known in the Smith household for beginning large scale projects at four am and passing out on them at four fifteen. All the sleep had disturbed him too, at first.

"Clara came the other day. Said that she was speaking with you, and you hadn't mentioned any family that came around- so I just wanted to check in. See if everything's okay. She's fine, by the way."

Rose?

"Clara. Don't know if she mentioned it, but she got a new job- and, um.. Rose and I might've as well...we sent off a few of our old scripts to a publisher, and they got back to us, said it was wonderful. And-and Chris. Chris has been taking college courses on the Internet. Did you know that? The rest of us were so shocked. He's been accepted to a uni grad program, web design- that's what he did, all those hours on that laptop. But...he's not taking it too well. Any of this. And-"

"I didn't think he would." John said quietly, eyes still closed. He could hear David take a sharp breath, and wished he could ignore the rush of the cannula oxygen that was his breath by now.

"Sorry?"

"Chris. Figured he'd be worst off." John said, trying for louder than 'pathetic whisper' and reachieving 'twisted rasp'. "Where's the program?"

"Cambridge."

John opened his eyes. "Cambridge?" He whisper-exclaimed. David nodded. John grinned. "Chrissy got to Cambridge? That's fantastic!"

"Brilliant, that's what I told him."

"Tell him congratulations from me, will you? Cambridge! Oh, how wonderful! And you and Rose- what scripts did you send? Bestiary?"

"Bestiary." David agreed, allowing a broad smile to stretch his face.

"Then congratulations are in order for you too. I salute you, dear sir. Good to know that your future is somewhat in good hands."

David beamed as John continued. "And tell Miss Tyler that I expect her to keep a good hold on it."

"..oh." David scrunched up his face a bit as John snickered.

"And you."

"Hm?" David tilted his head at John, clearly confused.

"How have you been?"

"I've been...okay. Sort of. Well..."

"You can tell me." John reassured.

David ran a hand through his hair. "I haven't been going home." He confessed. "I've been sleeping at Rose's place, and Gallifrey Landing, and basically anywhere to avoid going back in as much as I can because I can't stand it. I can't."

A small ba-bling! noise came from his pocket, and he looked down, shocked to his cell phone. "It's Peter. I've got to leave."

"David..."

"Yes, John?"

"Thank you. I just really, really need to say that."

David looked vaguely caught off guard, which was a first for him. "Thank you too, John. For everything."

And with that, David left the room.

-/-

It had become a sort of routine, the dream thing. He'd ask about hers, and she'd ask about his. Both had varieties, and both were better than day-to-day life that everyone seemed to be so preoccupied with out there in the real world.

But that's not what it was this time.

A while after David left, she came; but she came like a whirlwind, all dark hair frizzy and bangs set askew, a strange look in her eyes.

"Miss Oswald?" He queried.

"She found it." Clara said.

"Who found what?"

"Rose." Clara stated. "She found a meaning to 'the boy from gray September'."

John felt his heart drop a bit. That had been meant specifically for Clara to figure out; he doubted that the others would discover the symbolism as she would. With a singling feeling, he began to ask something- but Clara barreled on.

"See, the thing is, I don't think she's right."

John raised an eyebrow.

"She said that the meaning was depression. But that's not it. That can't be it, because 'depression' would only work in some situations."

"Do you have a second answer?"

Clara looked down, abashed. "No."

John sighed, but he was partially pleased. "Rose is only half right. It is, indeed, 'depression', but that's about as good as saying that the meaning of Catcher In The Rye was 'mental illness'. It's more-"

He began coughing, and Clara approached cautiously, worry in her eyes. "Do you need anything? Should I call someone?"

John shook his head, and the coughing began to subside. "It's in the application. The application of the phrase." He choked out. "And I can't tell you more, but I hope you'll keep trying."

"Believe me, I will."

* * *

Some time later, he dreamed of a gray world and a pale sun. He dreamed of charcoal swans and bright dawns and the falling leaves of the red months He dreamt once again of a story of the starry eyed lovers, of the dark hero, of the boy drowning in silence.

And he dreamed of the autumn girl, bright and clear as a bell without the boy from gray September like a cloud over her. The autumn girl was sharper, and somewhat colder; oh, but how she was. She was glorious, in that moment and forever after.

He opened his mouth, forgetting that he could barely speak, and he opened his eyes, though he barely wanted to see, and he opened his heart, though his mind saw how right she was and

of course I still dream.

Everybody dreams.

But was this reality? Had that gone too? No, everything's gone wibbly, he can't...he can't...

* * *

He can't seem to find the words for this, but it is beautiful.


	28. The Final Chapter

**A/N Oh wow. Here we are. Two left, but I don't really want an AN on the other one, so let's get this all down now.**

**First: I'd like to thank all my reviewers: ALL OF YOU ARE AMAZEBALLS AND DESERVE FLUFFY KITTENS.**

**Second: Everyone who has followed/favorited also deserves a fluffy kitten. **

**Now, for some clarification (unless I'm a good Valkyrie and actually post the second chapter when I intend to) THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER. The last chapter is "Welcome to The New Age" and I cried writing it so sorry. But...but...ugh. I love this story, and I've loved writing it, and I've enjoyed responding to all of you and thank you to EVERYONE who has even clicked on the link because you have made the past few months wunderbar. *applauds all of you wonderful people* GriffinGirl: I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. If my somewhat beta were here he'd probably message you a sad Ten gif-so we'll just pretend that there's one here for now. dark-thyme-lord: Thanks! It does get better (sadly not until Welcome to The New Age so I'm going to try to upload them at the same time). Son of Whitebeard: no. Sorry, but I'm not that nice. Izwick: It's perfectly fine! But wait- confusing in what way? If it's the end to the last one, then good-but anything else I could clear up? Okay! **

**I can't even begin to express how much this has meant to me over the past few months- but it has been wunderbar. Thank you all. **

**The Final Chapter**

Clara knew he was declining.

Everyone in the Smith household did- well, those that were left in the Smith household. This morning, Chris had taken the first train out of town. He couldn't wait to leave Neptune Creek behind. And David hardly ever came back anymore...

She had to get there as fast as she could. He had to still be fine. She called Trenzalore, but Tasha said that she wasn't allowed back that night. She had to come in the morning.

That night felt like years. It felt like centuries. And she just sort of...sat there, waiting in cold silence, until dawn rounded the corner. And then it was a few centuries more before she seemed to land from that frozen state of mind and-yes- it was nine twenty. She could go now.

* * *

"Depression, she said, but that's not it. It's you-almost. The boy from gray September is the person that you became when you gave in to depression. From, from doesn't have to be a location-and that's what I was missing. To be from a certain mindset, that's what you meant."

A slow smile was beginning to spread across his face, though his eyes remained shut. Clara continued. "And it's sort of a warning from the past-you knew, didn't you? You had this end goal for a while now, and that phrasing was just so fabulously poetic and...I'm right, aren't I? Please tell me I got it."

"Yes." The sound was almost imperceptible, mouth barely moving at all. "Oh, impossible girl. I knew it. I knew you could."

"And now you can't." she said, a note of triumph and desperation peaking her voice.

"I can't what?"

"You can't...go."

He opened his eyes, and Clara saw the strength that took; the nurses were right. A wave of cold rushed over her. "My dear miss Oswald," John said slowly and quietly, "that may not be our decision to make."

That was when she began crying in earnest; all the tears she had held back spilled over and out again. "But tha-that's not fair," she sobbed. "Why can't life be fair JUST. THIS. ONCE."

"Perhaps it's because we are not fair to life."

She said nothing to that.

"Times change...and people change, too. I was a different person after Amy went. You'll change after I've gone-"

"Don't say that," she whispered. "Please don't say that."

They were both quiet for a moment. His eyes had closed again. "But you, Clara Oswald, will be fine. Completely fine."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, but I do."

"Moreover, you cannot say that because you will survive." She took his hand rather sharply and he flinched before relaxing into her touch. "John."

He didn't respond, but his eyelids were tightening at the edges. Was he in pain?

"John? Are you oka-"

His grip tightened suddenly, and his eyelids fluttered. Something was definitely going wrong.

"Help! He needs help in here!" Clara called into the hall as she watched a flush rise into his cheeks and his mouth opened as if to speak. And then, he did.

"You got it right and and always knew you could and please Clara don't drown after I go because it's going to happen, and -argh- I can feel it coming."

No. No, no no no no no no NO this had to be a dream, some sort of fevered nightmare. Two people rushed in, working away at the monitors that kept him there and telling her to stand back, stand back now.

"One-one last thing." Clara said, heart shattered and in her throat. "Do you still dream?"

He didn't stir. She carried on, voice rising with every syllable. "Please, please say you're still dreaming up those fantasies, and the dark worlds, and some of those that were so blatantly ridiculous and that was so you anyways. So just answer me that. Will you, Doctor? One last favor to the Impossible Girl?"

And just barely, his lips moved. Just barely, Clara heard.

"Of course I still dream. Everybody dreams."

* * *

"Hello? Is there anybody out there?"

"Mr. Smith?"

"I...I can't seem to find proper words for it..."

"Proper words for it, sir?"

"Oh, but it is beautiful..."

"..."

"Tell her that, will you? Tell her that it was beautiful. Please."

"Mr. Smith? MR SMITH?"


	29. Welcome To The New Age

Welcome to the new age.

* * *

Welcome to the hours where David Smith and Rose Tyler are working on their future under the light of a thousand tiny suns. They are cold at first; it all reminds them of him, and how could it not? A wound fresh is reawakened by the slightest touch. But soon, dealing with pain will become just as much a part of their relationship as love, and Rose and David grow to love it too. Soon, they'll smile again.

* * *

Welcome to the thirty six minutes that the last train back to Neptune Creek trudged through, each revolution of its wheels a new weight on Chris' mind. Welcome to the three minutes he spends sobbing and the five he spends screaming into his sleeve and he wishes for the first time in his life that nobody could hear him. Welcome to the one minute that a stranger touches his arm and tells him that it will always get better, though his immediate response is 'not this time.' Welcome to the second that he believes this to be true.

'Oh, but it does," she says. Welcome to the night, which they spend crying and comforting. They bring eachother into the new world.

* * *

Welcome to the twenty seconds that Peter Smith spent struggling with the front door lock. The new age will be colder for him- oh, but he'll survive. Welcome to the twenty first second when he stops, and looks up at this old house with nobody in it. Suddenly, he realizes that even if the door was open, he won't be able to sleep tonight. Welcome to twelve minutes later, when he knocks on Clara Oswald's door, hoping against hope that it will open.

It will, and welcome to the eleven seconds that he waits until he is offered the couch and a blanket by the girl who knows he needs it.

* * *

Welcome to the second that the new age began, formerly known as the second that John Smith died.

And so starts the new age that he creates but cannot live to see; welcome to the darker days that he will leave in his wake. Welcome to the final moment, where he finally discovers what he has searched for, what he has longed for.

John Smith, you are forgiven.

You are forgiven, and you forgive yourself. You will be mourned, and someday time will forget you as it has to so many other of its toys. But you will go knowing that you have completed your mission; they understand now that letting go is imperative, no matter how difficult. You have succeeded.

She will know that it was beautiful.

* * *

Welcome to the new age, because this is not the same world as the one of the past. These days are filled with sorrow, but tinted by a hopeful undertone. And in it, every second is a new one, every minute of every day, and each one is to be remembered. You, dear reader, are welcomed to each one. Welcome to the days rife with anger, and datkness, and tears, but know tht they end as all things must. Welcome to the days that follow; welcome to the acceptance. And that is what everyone waits for.

* * *

Welcome to the new world, the new moment where Clara Oswald straightens a black-and-white picture of a swan near her desk after a unruly child knocked it askew. The paper has barely changed at all, though the swan wa painted two years ago. She bends to pick up a pressed violet that had fallen to the floor. She stares at it a few moments, an odd expression on her face of regret, sadness, and some guilt. She turns back to the class. A girl asks about the violet.

"They were his favorite." she simply responds.

Whose favorite? And why are you so particular about that picture?

Miss Oswald looks around, and then bends down and glances at them all, slightly nervous. But she's not scared, not now at least. She'll never be afraid of this again.

"Would you like to hear a story?" She asks. And of course, they'd love a story. Children always do.

And what a story that Clara Oswald has to tell.

-fin-


End file.
